ToC Mrs. ’ Her lashes fluttered. ’ ‘Comment? You wish to murder me?’ ‘No, I wish to beat you,’ he retorted. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. She herself had cut the slender tie that had bound them. Adieu! my charmer. .
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