The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn’t. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. . “I missed the hour of your release,” he said, “but I was at the Vindicator Restaurant.
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