She cursed herself for a fool. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. Mr. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Cathy Beck was terribly upset and was on the verge of exploding. You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days.
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