Langley, I appeal to you. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. The younger of the two, who was seated next to Jack, and seemed to monopolize his attention, could not be more than seventeen, though her person had all the maturity of twenty. "Your sympathy is being wasted.
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