“There had been a half-hearted attempt on the designer’s part to make the room look like an Irish pub, but he had been waylaid on his path by helpful suggestions from several uninformed quarters about the true nature of the Irish pub. Helen Blackwood was sitting at a table for two in a dark corner. She was wearing a soft print dress. Her hair, though pulled back, didn’t look as though it impeded her eyes from blinking anymore. There was even a trace of make-up on her lips and cheeks. She smiled ...at me as I came across the floor, struggling out of my heavy coat. “I’ve already ordered a drink,” she said, pointing to a partly finished whisky sour. “I hope you don’t mind.” She was sporting earrings and a gold chain around her neck. I noted the effect, but I couldn’t figure out why she was turning on the charm in my direction. In spite of all I’ve overheard when my mother gets talking to her cronies over the teacups, I have a fairly level-headed view of myself, and none of the persons I am are the sort you wear tiny pearl earrings for.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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