A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. ‘I do not know your Gérard. 97 “For what, kiddo?” Larry turned his head slightly to one side. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. Manning. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre.
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