Mike chortled. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. They were the three most beautiful women I had ever seen. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Michelle moaned and whined, and Diane resigned herself to 11:00.
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