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Somehow Linda had expected Peter to be as clumsy with foreign languages and customs as he was in moving. Her mouth felt dry and she glanced sidelong at him as he wove through the traffic. When he exited the highway, she made an effort to speak, but nothing came out, and she swallowed hard. It was impossibleimpossible to be in love with a man of whom she knew so little. What had they talked about during all those lunches? Yet if at that moment Peter had said, "Marry me," Linda would meekly have put her hand into his and followed wherever he led. |
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It was neither church nor temple that Peter led Linda into, however, merely a large roadside cafe. He did not stop at the tables sheltered under umbrellas, gay even in the failing light, but urged Linda on ahead of him into a dim room and steered her toward a booth in the back that was, to her unadjusted eyes, as dark as pitch. |
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"Look," Peter said, after having shoved her somewhat ungently into the booth. "I better say this loud and clear and make my explanation later. I love you. I've loved you since you made your first nasty crack at me that day I met you in Aunt Em's sitting room. I thought I made it pretty clear even if I never said the words. It's hard to find a time to say those particular words at lunch. You have no idea how hard it is. I tried and tried to find a place to put them in between the appetizer and the soup or between" |
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"Peter!" Linda choked. "I'll murder you! Between the appetizer and the soup, indeed! How |
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