“That’s another thing, James,” Polly said angrily, jabbing her man in the
ribs with her fingers, a trick she had learnt from her mother when she ran the
brothel. “I haven’t seen your wonderful little house, have I? Has it been
painted or is there a single stick of furniture there? Do they have proper
bathrooms in Luton, I am not using a lean-to. Nor am I living in a slum. You go
off buying these places without talking to your partner - is that what I’m called or not these days?”
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