And yet—I love you. So they fenced with smiles. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. Voilà tout.
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