‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. It slipped out—as did that “she”. How can I tell you all I feel? I love you beyond measure. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it.
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