“His face was pale and puffy from a night of excess, and his hands shook slightly as he reached for the half-empty bottle of claret that sat on the sideboard. “I cannot believe I allowed you to talk me into this . . . this madness,” he muttered. “How is it madness?” Therese, his sister, asked in her usual deceptively placid voice. “Julia is gone and everything is falling into place.” He turned, lifting the glass in his hand to his mouth with a shaky, convulsive movement. Taking a drink, he cough...ed slightly and narrowed his eyes. “Where is she?” At the table, her plate nearly empty, Therese calmly helped herself to another slice of jellied veal. “I have no idea. The pretty little bitch has decamped and that is all that concerns me. Poor Adain must be beside himself.” Edward asked haltingly, “You are certain you’ve done nothing to her? We’ve taken enough risks as it is, and another body washing up—” “You worry like an old woman,” Therese interrupted shortly, taking a generous bite of her food.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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