I rarely set foot in London these days. Jack turned away with an aching heart. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. He sent me flowers. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing.
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