Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. “Mom, this is the girl I asked to Prom, Lucy. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. She withdrew her mouth and patted his penis dry with the bottom of his shirttails. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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