“Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Sheppard. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. She heard the television blaring away. John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. I love some one else.
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