Shari proceeded to paint, brush, dust, slather, and blot Lucy’s face with makeup. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. Still, my tutor was a highly educated scholar—my father. She remembered the doctor's warning that the real battle would begin when the patient recovered consciousness. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably.
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