Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. You’re all dependents—all of you. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. Her scream shook the windows of the sedan. “Be careful,” Lucy cautioned Michelle as she sidestepped a two by four studded with upturned nails. I'm almost sorry I've sworn to hang you. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Good heavens! She was discussing love-making.
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