Musette was embarrassed. He hadglanced around, noting the relay machines picking up messages from outside, sorting them, vectoringthem off in other directions. He looked fine when I got here, Anita, honest. He stopped in the doorway between kitchen and dining room, as if he'd picked up on the tension.
And Gretchen was there. But he was moving too slow for the door. Police filled the door, guns drawn. He looked past me at Jean-Claude.
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