You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. But, say we're friends. “I promise, Lucy. One was in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor business. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world. It was the grand nursery of vice.
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