She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. She infused menace into her voice. Come along home, Ruth. Lucy looked down, noticing that Michelle had left her shoes in the entryway. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. “Always planning for death. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously.
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