She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. “That’s what we narcs have to do. Here were the passionate lovers! What their past had been he neither cared nor craved to know. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. “Of course!” he said.
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