Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. The subterranean level of the Diedermayer house was fully bedecked with every luxury known to mankind. You’re going to live under the cat’s foot. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee.
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