She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. As a rule, Courtlaw told her softly, he talked right and left, and to everybody throughout the whole of the meal—tonight he was almost silent, and seemed to devote his whole attention to staring at Anna.
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