If I were Mr. ’ ‘Your husband?’ Gerald tutted. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. “Just do it. go. Spurling and Marvel rose too. Makes you real. “Now step aside, I have some business to attend to.
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