McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted.
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