“I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. She put her clothes back on, 118 lipstick smeared all over her face. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. She shuddered as his naked body pressed against her.
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