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 farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. “Yes. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. Maggot. Ed. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. . ‘Ah, Madame Joan. It was not possible.
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