’ ‘But, Hilary—’ ‘Don’t you begin, Lucilla, for I won’t stand for it. ” “What?” “That’s the devil of it!” “Devil of what?. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. Michelle was only a junior, the same year as herself.
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