She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. My nerves are shaken. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet.
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