He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. He gripped the window-sill behind him. “A little touchy this evening, aren’t we, Missy?” Michelle chided her friend. Lucy simply added her own good night, even though a significant part of her wanted to call Cathy mother, she refrained.
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