’ ‘Then you’re mad,’ Roding said flatly, and suddenly grinned. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. He sprung out of the driver’s side and ran to her door. He smiled complacently. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight.
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