‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. Diane Vorsack tried to disguise the fact that she was livid, her daughter’s buffoonery having driven off the prestigious dinner guests before the after-dinner drinks could be served. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. "Hold!" interposed Thames, "he can do no more mischief. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. What is it?" "Guess," rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance.
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