They embarked upon an open and declared friendship. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. You don’t know what you ask nor what you say. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. “Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome.
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