“It’s nice to meet you,” the voice continued in a polite tone. “You have a beautiful home. And garden.” Then the manly, warm voice that sounded youthful, like a man in his twenties, lowered to a mumble. I listened with my eyes still closed, trying to decide if he was real—or if I was so sex-deprived that I was hearing things. “What now?” the voice asked in an undertone. “You greet, you say nice to meet you, then compliment the hostess. But she’s supposed to say something back? Isn’t she? Not just stand there with her eyes closed… Oh, fluffy ears!” He exclaimed that last phrase, and I snorted
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