She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. There will be no avoiding it. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. Unless he has killed someone. Wood. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. 1.
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