She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. She put her mouth on him. It’s awkward, but we’ll get round it somehow. “If I had three hands,” she said, with a faint smile, “I would give one to each of you. ” “Won’t you postpone the attempt, then?” he said gallantly, “until I have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not forget—seven-thirty, Café Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes.
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