“If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. Sebastian, as doctor, was constantly around the sick and the dying. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. "No such thing," rejoined Thames.
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