But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. My wife—killed me. ’ ‘Gérard,’ she said, giving the French version with a soft “g” and not quite managing the “l”. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like.
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