“I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. ‘Either you tell me why you want the wretched animal, or it stays here. “What can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. He let go of the girl’s arm. He was an odd one, especially for a young man.
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