She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. “Please stop fighting me. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. I was afraid you wouldn't talk to me--you seem kind of shy--but I figured maybe I could still talk you into joining our study group, it goes all year. . ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course.
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