I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. "You're mistaken, Winny.
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