Chapter Thirty-ThreeA Way To Die
The wind came up and drove gray clouds across the sky, dousing the sunlight and turning the sea to slate, but it could have blown the roof right off the bedroom without the occupants taking much notice. Mrs. Barrelforth had to knock several times before she got a reply.
“I don’t know how long it takes young people nowadays to kiss and make up,” she boomed through the door, “but you’re well past the limits fixed by the Association. Besides, you have guests.”
There was a confused mumble of voices from the bedroom, then Sybil’s disentangled itself and cried, “Guests! Why? Who?”
“Bridge guests,” said Mrs. Barrelforth. “I rounded them up for you as a special treat. Thought it would relax you.”
“I’m not sure I ever want to play bridge again,” said Sybil.
“Y
