It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. The hansom drove off. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. Her thick body was heavy and massive. I’ve been on the watch for you. He had got here at speed by that means. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger.
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