“Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. "So endeth the first lesson," he said. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. Her tone was icy. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith.
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