“Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory.
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