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. And permit me to do the same. So far, your performance, both horizontally
and vertically, has been satisfactory. If either becomes unsatisfactory, I'll
let you know. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough. Although I may beat you to death with your own sophistries."
"Beating her husband to death is every married woman's privilege... as long
as she does it in private. Please pipe down, dear; I've got troubles. Can you
think of any good reason why Tolliver should be killed?"
"Ron Tolliver? No. Although I can't think of any good reason why he should
be allowed to live, either. He's a boor."
"He's that, all right. If he were not one of the Company partners, he would
have been told to pick up his return ticket and leave, long ago. But I didn't
say 'Ron Tolliver,' I just said Tolliver.'"
"Is there more than one? I hope not."
"We'll see." I went to the terminal, punched for directory, cycled to "T."
"'Ronson H. Tolliver, Ronson Q.'-that's his son-and here's his wife,
'Stella M. Tolliver.' Hey! It says here: 'See also Taliaferro.'"
"That's the original spelling," said Gwen. "But it's pronounced 'Tolliver'
just the same."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure. At least south of the Mason and Dixon Line back dirtside.
Spelling it 'Tolliver' suggests poh white trash who can't spell. Spelling it the
long way and then sounding all the letters sounds like a Johnny-come-lately
damyankee whose former name might have been 'Lipschitz' or such
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