. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. ’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows. She could tell that they too would find their legs jutting awkwardly from the petite furniture. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. “So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other.
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