All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. Here I am. I must see if I have a gown fit to wear. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t. " He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. And yet, dang it! I've seen 'em just as innocent looking that were prime vipers. What has been the matter?” “Toothache,” he answered laconically. “I don’t know where to go to.
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