His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other. Perhaps she was. Martha had been more to her than that. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order.
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