Thanksgiving Day morning, Shari woke Lucy a half an hour before the sounding of the alarm. Only I’m so incensed with that crazy fool Gerald that—oh, well, never mind. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. "Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop.
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