“What’s wrong with her?” Richard asked. Because it seemed unlikely that there wouldn’t be something. Winston shrugged. “Nothing. That I know of.” Which meant that she probably yodeled in her spare time. When she wasn’t practicing taxidermy. On crocodiles. Richard used to be a lucky fellow. Really. “She’s very pale,” Winston said. Richard looked over at him. “Is that a flaw?” “Of course not. It’s just . . .” Winston paused, his brow coming together in a little furrow of concentration. “Well, to be honest, that’s pretty much all I recall of her.”
