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... Seeing her grinding her teeth, too afraid to retort, a flicker of amusement crossed Mortimer Quincy’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to Holly Winslow. "That son of a bitch, Mortimer Quincy? Or was it, ’Fuck you... Mortimer Quincy’?"
His wife’s repertoire of curses was limited to just a few phrases; she hadn’t added any new material in years.
Caught red-handed, Holly Winslow was speechless: "..."
’This was the downside of being married. Your husband becomes a ...
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