We went our ways. ‘Aha,’ grunted Gerald with satisfaction, squinting up at the two open shutters on the second floor. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. 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. He thanked God for this talent of his.
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