” “Ye—e—es. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. “Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind. "She is saying that you, a woman, will readily understand the position in which she finds herself. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her.
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