Rachel opened her mouth to begin some tirade or the other, but found herself quite speechless. And so closed her mouth, before opening it a second time, and… yes, closing it again, stopping herself from doing so a third time and resembling sort kind of stupefied fish.
She may have looked like a species of stationary aquatic life, but her heart began to pound triple time and the blood that began furiously pumping through her veins was sending a definite bout of pink to her cheeks and almost certainly the tips of her ears. Rachel was suddenly grateful she wore her curls down and loose this morning and wished to pat her hair discreetly to ensure it provided proper coverage.
Resuming as much of her coveted and rather infamous composure as possible, she cleared her throat a moment and replied, "You do think the, er, strangest things at night, I must say." Voila. She could be as blasé as her husband on such ridiculous matters. She resumed reading about The Parkinsons' Balkan soiree—oh, hell.
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