Royce looked out to sea, pursing his lips. There was a hard clarity and strength in his profile, a classic refinement. Lindquist decided he was a pretty decent guy. “Well, I don’t know,” said Royce. “I was never very good at the sex post-mortem stuff. Even in bull sessions. On the one hand you’re bragging because you caught the brass ring in the sex merry-go-round, and on the other you’re accusing the ring for allowing itself to be caught. Even the tramps, so-called, are entitled to a little privacy. Everyone bows to their own god of indulgence, even if it’s just being a self-righteous
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