And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. . ’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Gerald said calmly, sipping at his burgundy. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment.
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