”The American vet, nettled, accused Fen of treating her horse like a machine. ”Upstairs, Helen collected Marcus and went into the bedroom, where she found Hilary combing her hair. ”He filled her glass, although she’d only drunk half of it, looking at her meditatively. “I’m so sorry,” she kept saying.
I could sleep on a clothes’ line,” said Fen. There was no more whisky; only vodka, but no tonic. It’s all right if you swallow it fast. The fact that he hardly got a word out didn’t seem to matter.
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