Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. The small bed’s hospital corners had been put into disarray by Michelle’s crying fit.
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