shouldn’t be friends. I won't dig their graves with my nails. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. Ah, no, I have it wrong. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight.
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