Send you the shirt. The Jew swallowed it at a draught. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. She could not help devouring him a little with her eyes across the Burger King booth, handsome shoulders visibly solid underneath his ridiculous polo shirt, his eyes all sweetness and light. The entire place was a masterpiece of wooden carving, a design of interleaving carried throughout. Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast.
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