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0°ÇÀÇ Èı⺸±â(¿µ¹®) Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid(Á×Àº ÀÚ´Â °ÝÀÚ ¹«´µÀÇ ¿ÊÀ» ÀÔÀ» ¼ö ¾ø´Ù) ¿µÈ´ë»ç Âü°íÀÚ·áÀÔ´Ï´Ù.
Àüü 149 page Áß 14 page±îÁö ¹Ì¸®º¸±â°¡ °¡´ÉÇÕ´Ï´Ù.
dead men dont wear plaid script (thunder)
it was a quiet day at therigby reardon detective agency.
i had a hangover, and business wasso slow i was rereading old newspapers.
i was even thinking of closing upthe office for a few days.
.when all of a sudden.-(knock at door)
-mr reardon?-thats right.
my.
. my name
my.
in all my years in the business,id never seen anything like her.
was she real? there wasonly one way to find out.
but i remembered marlowes words.
what the hell does marlowe know?
she was real all right.
what are you doing?
adjusting your breasts.
you fainted and they.shifted all outta whack.
-there.-thank you.
youre welcome.
(she sighs)
thank you. i
i apologisefor my dramatic entrance.
its just when i sawthe.newspaper headlines.
-you must be quite a dodgers fan. -no, i saw
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