He turned to Underhill. The Scout went into another skid, this time widdershins to the first, and Pete yelled again. Can't do anything about it, the gesture said. Just lay there staring.
He was not a knower; knowing was someone else's department, and none of those guys had been invited to this particular pre-Thanksgiving party. The orange ribbons on her hat blew out behind her. It was the window, and in some ways that was even worse. In an instant it was gone, even as he shook himself awake.
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