do you really like me?
what have i told you before?
i expect you have told me a lot of things.
you make me feel very tired.
is that all i make you feel - tired?
derek sighed. a great, heaving, eye-rolling sigh.
what have i done to deserve this? weston asked pitiably.
outside, evening began to fall.
all this transpired in a villa in the south of france.
derek closed his eyes, and tried to recall jollier times.
it had been a long time since he had been truly amused by anything.
he knew, of course, that the good times could not last forever.
suddenly, the doorbell rang.
derek felt a wave of perfect gratitude sweep over him.
without counting to ten, or counting at all, he headed straight to the door and flung it open.
and there stood miss quinn!
i was not expecting you, derek managed to blurt out.
perhaps you are not going to let me in? miss quinn replied regally.
my dear miss quinn, derek replied suavely, if my astonishment at seeing you here temporarily overcame my sense of the proprieties, i apologize from the bottom of the deep well of my sincere heart.
are you really going to stand there like a frog, and not invite me in? and my bags are in the cab. have them retrieved, and pay the driver, if you please.
derek stepped aside with a rueful smile masking his repressed fury, and miss quinn swept past him and entered the drawing room.
the unfortunately empty drawing room.
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