Madame shrugged. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. Probably hadn't. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Shocked and appalled, she brought her left knee up fast, ramming his testicles swiftly. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. But the five per cent. The Malays have one, too, but it's a rank imitation, tom-toms and all. It's fine with me if it's fine with Cathy, darlin’. And would you mind hurrying a little. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe.
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