He never felt any need to explain himself. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. Very doubtful. You understand me, Charcoal. When John’s parents weren’t home, they made love in his bedroom. Burn your palette and your easel.
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