She suspected that he would take a mistress just as soon as they returned to Florence. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. \"How's it going, Lucy?\" She turned. He leaned forward to embrace her. I was grounded for the last two weeks. I'd like to be alone now. There isn’t. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. “Where am I?” he muttered.
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