‘One thing at a time, missie. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. ’ ‘Was it?’ Her lips twitched. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. Mr.
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