She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. The water was cold but she waded deeper. You’re a far cry from your usual gloomy self these days. Murder had become nothing to her. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. The clever hostess having let fall that several distinguished guests from France would be present, the world had flocked to her doors to catch, like the gossip-hungry vultures they were, a glimpse of them.
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