“And another thing,” I yell, pacing. “It’s not Garrick Anderson either. The suit is by Armani! Giorgio Armani.” I pause spitefully and, leaning into her, sneer, “And you thought it was Henry Stuart. Jesus.” I slap her hard across the face and hiss the words
"Dumb bitch," [p. 247]
.............................
[p. 245-6]
I wait until she’s seen the
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