‘We needn’t murder Lucia. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. “I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. Miching Mallecho IX. I'll put them in your room; then we'll have a look-see.
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