\" Lucy obliged her, walking back to the entryway and slipping off the loafers. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. She was alone with a deadly enemy. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. The entrance of the house 85 was grand, and upon entering she was immediately greeted by John’s mother, a tall, thin woman quite a few years older than Cathy Beck. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. She felt it would save explanations if she did not state she had left her home and was looking for employment.
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