“Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. “I can get you,” Mr.
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