Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. Probably something he had eaten. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts. Another day of nonsuccess would mean many disagreeable things. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir. “But I have no troubles. ‘The whole town is talking. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes.
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