“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. The day was warm even under an overcast sky and Hilary, uncomfortable, shifted his weight. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. “Tut, tut!” he said.
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