“So you’re the one my son has been talking about. ” Lucy commented as the mud was smoothed around the grave site. She found Rhea trapped under a rock, her skeletal head exposed. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. . . “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. Very romantic and all that.
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