It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. "Mr. Lucy dug out an old light gray cotton miniskirt that had shrunk on Shari in the wash. Three cars were lined up in the driveway. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. They are long gone. You have said a thousand times that there was no shame in you. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat.
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