Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side. As a consequence of its small size, it was possible to get along with the work on a much easier and more colloquial footing than a larger class would have permitted. But I must—I ought—” “I MUST talk about this. He's nice.
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