Charvill’s fury was burning out. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. No other man should touch her; she was Hoddy's, body and soul, in this life and after. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper. " "Well, that's a hopeful sign. .
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