“What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said. It was a society column about the richest men in the world and their lavish parties. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair.
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