‘I can’t tell you the times I’ve wished for a gun to point at Hilary’s head. “Okay, Mom. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. “Is this Montague Street, W. It's certain.
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