Sheppard returned no answer. Lucy dug out an old light gray cotton miniskirt that had shrunk on Shari in the wash. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. A creeping numbness invaded her. It must be somewhere hereabouts. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. Jonathan laughed scornfully.
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