Explore "A Trace of Memory" by Keith Laumer on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was nearly four-thirty and a tentative grey streak showed through the palm fronds to the east before I broke the silence.
"By the way," I said. "What was the routine with the steel shutters, and the bullet-proof glass in the kitchen, and the handy home-model machine gun covering the front door? Mice bad around the place, are they?"