” She said under her breath. ‘Yes, I thought you’d say that. . She no more realizes what she has done than a child of eight. Her aunt went off at a tangent. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. A bad man, in fact. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines.
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