By Pat Bunyan
Johnny took his ladies as casually as cigarettes, and positioned them out simply as casually whilst he was once performed with them. but if this difficult, mobbed-up, handsome little jazz cornetist met a blonde waif named Leona, he stumbled on himself going the direction for her, even on the hazard of his life.
A saga of a brand new Haven underworld no Yale guy ever sees...
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Additional info for A Doll for Johnny Marco
Viola sank down in a chair, swamped by a bitterness she hadn’t felt for years. As bafﬂing as it seemed now, she had loved him, and with a power beyond all reason. She had married him because she thought the sun rose and set each day just to shine on him. What a fool she had been. He told her he loved her, but that had been a lie. He had married her not for love, but for her money. All her love wasted on a man who did not love her in return, a man whose mind had decided he needed a wife of means, but whose heart had never belonged to her.
Forgive me,” he said to the duchess, “but the viscountess and I must be on our way shortly. ” “I will see if Viola has packed her trunks,” she said, and the difference between her words and John’s request conﬁrmed his suspicion. He was in for a ﬁght. The duchess stood up and both men did the same, bowing as she left them. In the wake of her departure, he and the duke moved to opposite sides of the room as if by tacit agreement to keep as far away from each other as possible. Neither THE MARRIAGE BED 47 sat down again and neither one of them spoke.
Before his father’s death, he had been like most young gentlemen of his acquaintance—feckless, foolish, and so bloody irresponsible. A man who spent every shilling of his allowance with no thought to where it came from, with no idea that the funds his father sent him were all on credit. He rested his forehead on the window glass. That London season nine years ago, he’d still been reeling from the shock of discovering that being a peer had responsibilities, ones his parent had so shamelessly ignored.