" There was a brief, breathless pause. "Under the table. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. ” “Ugh! That poor girl! What a horrible guy! Did he?” “Yeah, it was his. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. “Michelle said that your mom was a suspect because she ran away, visited some boyfriend of hers and then ran off into the night. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance.
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