The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. Amongst them was a revolver. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. A very familiar face emerged from a crowd at the impromptu bar on the kitchen island. . “To your room!” Michelle cowered, her face flushed with anger. “Lucy! You found me! I was just about to sleep some of those rum and Cokes off like the pig I am. I know how bad it feels. .
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