The movie droned on, the sounds becoming manageable except for the frequent high-pitched screams of young girls when a poltergeist manifestation would leap out of a shadow. She winked at him as he shut the door. “Because I hate you!” She spat. He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. Amid this skirmish Jonathan greatly distinguished himself. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. “Yes, John.
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