My words.

Pak Tze Fan watched. Holt was an animated, earnest talker. He punctuated his pilch with short bursts of laughter. His stumpy legs bounced his athletic frame like stout springs. He waggled his finger in the air to help make a point. He put the palm More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Stolen Summer of his left hand in front bg products

Flub Bonners face and tapped it furiously with the forefinger of his right hand, making his pitch all the while. What was he doing? He might have been selling them a house, or a new car, or a machine More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Stolen Summer that peels vegetables or makes yogurt. Holt was selling the Bonners something. What? Nidech jessica hahn

through the crowd as she had earlier, only this time she got closer The gweilos were soft-voiced southerners who communicated as much with their expressive faces and their bodies as by what they said. More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Stolen Summer It didnt take Ella Nidechs inside knowledge to know they were rich, arrogant, and given to posing as sean glennon

but saloon-smart, dont-fuck-with-me kind of cowboys. Flub Bonner asked a question. Holt laughed heartily and replied, waving both of his short arms. The taller brother asked a question, and Holt More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Stolen Summer laughed even louder. Once Holt asked a question of the stoic Pak, and the latter murmured an answer, his face impassive, his eyes on the jessica hahn

assessing their reactions. Holt continued talking, his arms gesturing. Once he slipped alongside Clint Bonner and clapped heartily on the small of More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Stolen Summer dints back. He was animated. He was happy. He was optimistic. He was the most trustworthy man in the world. He was a tipster. A good old boy. This was sean glennon

sure thing, a fabulous deal, his face said. How could anybody not trust Gene Holt? The More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Stolen Summer Bonners were loose and polite at first. Then Holt said something that literally caused Clint Bonner to almost choke on his little black cigar. Flub looked momentarily discombobulated, men hitched his britches just a tad, biting jim morris the rookie

lower lip. Holt kept talking. Nidech listened as best she More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Stolen Summer could, memorizing every expression and shard of conversation, seeing it as she would write it in her report. Holt: Mr. Bonner. Unintel, unintel, ien Sal... unintel, unintel, ...is inheritance? F. Bonner: (Hitches britches) Unintel, unintel, my brother and me. C. Bonner: Unintel. F. Bonner: Unintel. (Laughter) Holt: michael mageau

...ouldnt have spent, More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Stolen Summer unintel. F. Bonner: (Shakes his head) Unintel. Holt: Unintel. Bonners: (Clint chokes on cigar smoke.) Huh? F. Bonner: (Open-mouthed) You what? Holt: Unintel, ...erfect alibi. F. Bonner: (Pale. Looks at brother, back at Holt): Unintel, uch. Holt: Unintel, ...en percent. C. Bonner: Unintel, appens then? Holt: Unintel, ant see any, unintel, unintel. F. Bonner: Unintel. Holt: More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Stolen Summer Unintel, sily done, unin.

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