They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful. Her father was holding her waist, smiling. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. None at all. Stanley, and paused. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black.
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