“My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. “Okay, Mom. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her.
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