Lucy and Mike watched the exchange of high school Spanish with feigned interest. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. Very central in Miss Miniver’s universe were the Goopes. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. Even this man-hunting machine was willing to grant the boy his honeymoon. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss. But seriously ——” “Well seriously?” “Isn’t it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me your address, and allow me to call upon you. And me, I wish to know why you have seen him. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.
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