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A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. “Why do you kill me?” Michelle asked. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. He went over his interview with her again, their conversation at dinner-time. But let that verse tell my secret. “That’s exhilarating,” said Ann Veronica. ‘And since the entire company and Pottiswick himself were unable to find hide nor hair of the infernal French female—’ ‘English, Hilary,’ Gerald reminded him.
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