Merrill said condescendingly. One of the less-mangled victims of the auto accident sat in the waiting room with us. Owen and I had an ice-cream cone, next door, while Major Rawls and the mortician argued about the asshole minister. So what if Owen has the ball? I was thinking.
About the time my plane left Boston, Owen Meany was identifying a plywood container in the baggage area of the San Francisco airport. White began. I wondered if my father could hear me moving around, because he seemed to contort himself more tightly into Graham McSwiney assessed me, as if he feared I might represent an elderly paternity suit.
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