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... d to talk to Winston like this, they would probably have been shot in the head by him already.
But Joan Wellington, chattering away on the phone, went on and on to Winston endlessly.
The man, however, continued to hold the phone with one hand, his elbow resting on the car window, a faint smile at the corner of his lips, patiently listening till the end.
When Joan Wellington finally got tired of talking.
Winston’s deep, magnetic voice came through the phone: "Joan, ...
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