Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. Not about girls that I date. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. Her foster parents had attended the concert in their finest clothes, Cathy in a new JC Penney dress, Larry in a suit that was too small. ‘I’m taking you to Gerald, my girl. Anna left the room on tiptoe.
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