Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. “Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. But she threw a verbal bombshell into the spinsters' camp. ” “You would let him—knowing—all that you know?” “Why not? She is my flesh and blood.
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