“You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Felix Hospital,” he said. I was helpless. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um.
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