He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. “But who’s going to pay for the room?” “I’ve got money,” said Ann Veronica. Lucy could smell that Michelle was the body type that easily became cancerous, and fast. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal.
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