She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. If this idiotic marriage is binding then I will be her friend. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. Wood could stand it no longer. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. " "And you expect me to believe you after what has passed?" "I do; and, more than that, I expect you to thank me. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years.
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