‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. " The spinster's face actually became warm. "I say we, because Miss Rachel and I have struck up a match. ” Lucy looked at the small shelf which was jammed with thick paperbacks by every major horror novelist of the twentieth century.
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