Diane Vorsack clicked her tongue in a “tsk”. . McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. “Do something!” But he laid by his prey, half-watching the fight, gorging on the woman he had caught that had been meant for Rhea and her child. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee.
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