They became aware of the waitress standing over them with book and pencil ready for their bill. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. The hurricane had now reached its climax. I must take you to the Suffrage people, and the Tolstoyans, and the Fabians. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. He had said so.
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