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“Call me Cathy, John. He kissed her lightly on the lips. . ’ ‘So I heard. ” He said happily. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Not MY affair. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he said reassuringly.
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