RICHARD POTTERBOY was a beefy man with a big red face like an old-time politician’s; he looked like an elephant beside the little man with the telescopic spectacles sitting next to him. They both arose as Grisby walked in.
Potterboy’s face grew a shade redder as he glanced menacingly at his watch. “Good Lord, Grisby, where do you think you’re at? Vacationing back on earth? We’ve been waiting here nearly an hour four you!” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His uppers didn’t fit well and he was inclined to sputter...
Interestingly, writer Charles Dye (1927-1955) died in his 20's.
Merci beaucoup, Doc Mars!
1 comment:
De rien, cher Paul!
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