“Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind. “I am not dependent upon any one. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. Blood, they say, won't come out. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. I could not dream of loving you. Mike is a simple guy, but he’ll see through any act of yours. It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing.
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