“Shit!” John quickly countered, “What are you going to do? She’s a motor-mouth, Lucy, of the worst kind. ’ He threw one arm across his own chest and clapped himself on the shoulder. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. “Stop,” he said. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. And the Duke, too—I heard him say that a married secretary would be worse than useless to him. For I still love her mother. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute.
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