CHAPTER SEVEN
Gail Culver was late for the weekend party, although through no fault of her own. One of her smaller tables of guests had been very late in arriving to the dinning room for their evening meal, arriving almost at the last minute, and she had been forced to remain behind while they settled into their chairs and ate their meals. Naturally, because they were late and she was in a hurry, they each had wanted all four courses, from soup to dessert, with extra cups of coffee, and they ate with an inexorable slowness that nearly drove her up a wall. She had no choice, really, but to wait patiently while they talked and ate, dropped their utensils, and asked her to explain some of the mysterious names Shangri-la's chef used to disguise some very commonplace food Throughout her grindi
