He's just a son of a bitch!"She paused and looked at me as if she was judging something about me. "I don't know if this is something that you routinely discuss with divorce clients but . . . it's important to me. I need to know that you understand this is all his fault and . . . that I've done everything I can to keep things from getting this far. I need to know that you're really on my side." I'm on your side, Mrs. Easter. You seem like a very nice lady and he sounds like he's not a very nice guy. Besides . . . you're my client and I'll present your case to the best of my abilities," I defended myself against what was probably an unintended but implicit accusation."I understand what you're saying but that's not quite enough. I mean . . . I probably haven't told you enough to convince you . . . and I need you to really understand this, so . . . this isn't something that I'd ordinarily tell a stranger, or even a close friend, but I want to make sure you understand that he's the. Matt stretched and scratched, enjoying the clean feel of his skin and hair, as well as the flaccid state of his exhausted member. He took a deep breath and thought he could smell the Bay. He looked at his black-rimmed fingers and wondered if his hands would ever come clean. Jean had given up on them when she made so little progress with her scrub brush. Then she had worn him out completely and dropped him into a dreamless sleep, like a pebble falling into a deep, blue lake, sinking and sinking.In the tavern he enjoyed a breakfast of fried ham, raw oysters, hot biscuits, golden honey and brown beer. He gave the innkeeper two shillings and Jean two more, "for the bath" he told her when she growled at him. He patted her rump, hitched the dray horse to his borrowed wagon, and drove on in toward Annapolis, happy that George had replaced the old mule and that young Jean was still so tirelessly accommodating. Elizabeth has a baby; his mind wondered over that. Whose baby? What kind of baby?.
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