Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. Instead, her husband was probably wise. She was suddenly very aware of the room, the television still blaring, and the chill in the air. Still silence everywhere. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. F.
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