Sir John waved her back. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. ” She demanded. “I remember you now,” he said. “Holy shit!” Giggling and snickering was amplified by asbestos tiles and reverberated by metal desks.
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