He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed.
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