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 toward the sofa, when he was brought to a halt by the apparition of Matthew at the door.

"Miss Marple is calling, Madam."

Sophie threw Grover a look of dismay, followed by a wry smile, "Oh dear!" she murmured.

"Oh hell!" said Grover.

"I know I should have telephoned," said Rhoda, walking briskly to the sofa and thrusting aside the cushion which Sophie had been stroking. "But I happened to be passing. We've been rehearsing at Alcie Pender's for the charity garden fête. Guess who's coaching us, Grover—Noémi Janvier! . . . My Lord, he's taken to drink! Congratulations! Pour me one; I'm all in. May I, Sophie?" And Rhoda helped herself to a cigarette. "How was the exam?"

"Thank you, rotten."

"You mean you failed?"

"I do."

"Oh, Grover—what will your poor mother say!"

"That I'm breaking her heart. She'll add that it would have broken my poor father's. If they didn't want their hearts broken they should never have had me."

He had poured himself a third whiskey, out of sheer desperation. Rhoda's intrusion and the tone of irrelevant exuberance she had brought into the house enraged him. A mood that might never be recaptured