Then there was a little Chinese in full azure costume, with long gesticulating arms, and large callow head, who pertinaciously threw in his squeaky plea for Confucius in the most unsyntactical French.
The agent had arranged a movie deal for Rockne in Hollywood, and at the end of dinner Walsh and Fuller put Rockne in a cab to the train station to catch an overnight to Kansas City, where he would take a morning mail flight to Los Angeles.
Gia danced around a little, shaking her peaches for show. She shook it hard. Too hard. In the middle of a shimmy, her stomach cramped. A fart slipped out. A loud one. And stinky.
One–two–cha–cha–cha Three–four–cha–cha–cha
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