His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. The smell that emanated from the opening was abominable. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. “No, not that I know of,” Michelle replied, her still eyes not meeting Lucy’s. net/license).
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