XXIIIJustine Anabeth Duchane leaned back from her typewriter and stretched. 4:45 PM. She rubbed each wrist. “I’ve got something for you,” a voice spoke to her.
The politician looked to see Horatio Albert Urban with some legal papers. “Already?”
“Book and I took a ride at lunch,” he didn’t say he had to buy lunch for the ride, “I picked these up at town hall.”
“Are those what I think they are?” Justine asked, surprised at his speed and diligence.
“As requested, signature forms and all the forms you need to fill out to enter the race for the November.” The little writer held them out and the politician, who gratefully accepted them smiling. He also had clipboards.
“Thank you,” she leafed through them.
“Give me what I need and Book and I will hit up the Walbaum’s parking lot tonight get
