"And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. In truth, Sheila never saw Lucy murder anyone at all, she only saw the blood. . .
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