Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. A very familiar face emerged from a crowd at the impromptu bar on the kitchen island. But I never betray an old customer. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. The Times slipped from his fingers. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation.
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