an unpleaded excuse

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That boogalee's been talking, he said, arranging his pillows higher. I know he saw me this morning. He did. Snoopy, said Donald. Mr. Petit ain't a boogalee, said Mrs. Candy. And he ain't snoopy. He's right. What my roomers does is […]

Over the years she'd tried to tell himself that his uptown girl was just another lay.