” “Well?” “Lunch! I am hungry—tragically hungry. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. Michelle burst into laughter, followed by John, who almost spit up his cola. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town.
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