Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. ‘It is, you understand, that Monsieur Charvill did not—how do you say in English?—having an eye to an eye—’ ‘Didn’t see eye to eye with the Vicomte Valade? That I can well believe. I heard from David about you only this morning.
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