He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. “But I have no troubles. Now, do what you please. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers.
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