They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. There you are, the best client’s chair. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run. ’ ‘Who is that?’ demanded Lucilla eagerly. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray.
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