Under happier circumstances nothing would have given me more pleasure than to have offered you a home with your sister. She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. “Unless you have an appointment, which you haven’t,” he said, “you’ll only waste your time here. I’ve got a streak of male.
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