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"Ahem, Mr. President, you're supposed to be a socially elite who just came back from America, aren't you supposed to value personal privacy?" Yves King coughed in annoyance, "Going by your logic, does that mean I can freely come and go from your room, peek whenever I want, snoop whenever I want?"
"You dare…" Faye Owen's face darkened, she scolded angrily. However, her voice trailed off in slight embarrassment, "I...I only peeked through the door crack, that's all. Hey, Yves King, don't try to change the subject. I'm asking you, why isn't there any bedding on your bed? All I see is a bare Simmons mattress?"
"This?" Yves King glanced at her with a you're-making-a-big-deal-out-of-nothing look, lit a cigarette and leisurely smoked. He squinted and said, "Mr. President, would you be so moved to tears because I, out of kindness, gave you my only bedding while I spent the night freezing cold, and then you realize that I'm a great guy and fall for me?"