" Silence. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. We made sure it was just like Gwen. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. But not today. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman.
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