“When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. There's the paragraph. Finger to his lips, Gerald pointed in the direction of the noise. “Who did you live with before the Becks? I hear things. By George, I forgot! McClintock said there was a typewriter in the office and that I could have it. But, like all your overbearing sex, you must have your own way. He was confounded by the presence in which he found himself. In stature, he was short and stumpy; in person, corpulent; and in countenance, sleek, snub-nosed, and demure. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. . .
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