‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. “You are late,” she murmured. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. ” She yelled back. “No thanks, Cathy. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes.
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