Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. I asked him—to take me away. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. Gay. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished. "Of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh.
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