‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. She was, she guessed, close to the library. S.
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