They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. “Lucy, have you noticed that I don’t even own a dog?” He spoke into her hair. I warned her not to say a word, for it would mean the death of everyone in the Palazzo, including you. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. He was so seldom wrong. “She has been to my flat before.
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