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as she peered at a printed spreadsheet.
“Morning, Alison,” she murmured, her voice soft and polite as she adjusted her papers. “The mail is on the corner table.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Peterson,” I said, pausing by the desk to steady myself. “Did the regional folders arrive yet?”
“They are in the stack,” she said, not looking up from her work. “Harold is continue reading …
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