She could feel Michelle’s nervousness leaching into her spine. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. That she had not bought one piece of linen subtly established in Ah Cum's mind the fact that she had no home, that the instinct was not there, or she would have made some purchase against the future. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed.
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