Rhea became alarmed that she was about to leave. Ennison stood by her side. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. The Wastrel did not relish this. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. “My cab with all that luggage would give the whole show away.
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