’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought.
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