\" He said, as he threw his trash into the can on the way out. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. When I told her that there were no available nurses this side of Hong-Kong, she offered her services at once, and broke her journey.
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