She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. The door to the library burst open.
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