You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. She laughed a little contemptuously. ’ He grimaced. Michelle took out a Marlboro Light 100 from a secret stash on the inside of her pink neoprene jacket. McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. Then I cross-checked it with the name Alberti. He gently took the roses from her and laid them on the pillow. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. I’ll drive you home once my buzz goes away.
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