Boston Real Estate, a Greenwich Mansion, and Five Attorneys
The machine’s working again.”
“I want the deed, Julian.”
He poured and turned the chipped side of the mug toward himself, the way he always did.
“Dad saved paper the way other men save string.
It’ll show up in a shoebox somewhere.”
“It was in this folder.
Now the folder is empty.”
He pushed the mug toward me.
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