“Who came up with the password Quasimodo?” Spade muttered as he got out of his car. “Hello, Spade,” I called out, shaking the debris off the rake I’d made from thin strips of metal and a truck axle. Spade stared up at me, revulsion and disbelief competing on his handsome face. “Lucifer’s hairy ball sack. You’ve become a Morlock.”
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