Excerpt from The Plated City

I don't know anything about it, my dear, said the elderly gentleman at her right, taking off his broad-brimmed felt hat and mopping his forehead patiently. You'll have to ask Mr. Kennedy.

Craig Kennedy smiled, without taking his eyes from the pitcher. You are quite right, Sally. He didn't move, the strike was called on him. It was wide of the plate, though. Look out now.

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