" Mrs. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. “Please call me Carol.
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