“Mr. That was supposed to be Madame Valade. Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. The movie droned on, the sounds becoming manageable except for the frequent high-pitched screams of young girls when a poltergeist manifestation would leap out of a shadow. . ’ ‘Consider me warned,’ said Gerald solemnly. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women.
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