Mr. Bexley puts his head out of his office, looks at us both, and shakes his head. “Hell in a handbasket. I tell you, hell in a handbasket.” A witchy Shakespearean crone has nothing on him right now. Josh laughs. “Richard, please.” “Shut your mouth, Bexley,” I hear Helene call faintly. He
help could they both get it???
