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Too Like the Lightning
Dana Chambers
Pulp Fiction
When Jim Steele woke up that morning, there was a lovely blonde head that he could not remember, resting on the pillow beside him. Huddled in the adjoining bathroom was a corpse he remembered only too well--for he had snapped the pipestem neck with his own two hands. Hidden in every room of the apartment were dictaphones, recording each whispered murmur. And, having dealt with these matters compet
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