As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. ” He sidled toward her, but she recoiled from him, leaving him in possession of the hearth-rug. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. Then Mr.
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