You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. Cathy had not even noticed that she herself was wet and trailing water everywhere. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. They didn’t talk about it much, but Mike had been through some eerily similar foster homes in Florida, the where he was born. Strike the gag, Blueskin.
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