‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. By and by she heard the screen door. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. If you can imagine it, I survived it. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. There was only one sound—the fall of the sea upon the main beach, and even that said: "Hush! Hush! Hus-s-sh!" Not a leaf stirred, not a shadow moved.
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