It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. ‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly. Some people say that she’s partially responsible for Lindsey Daltrey’s suicide. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other.
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