“Well—you two! What are you trying to cook up!” Hack hack hack hack hack hack hack. Inez Bavardage took them both by their arms. For a moment, before she could get her fireproof grin back onto her face, Judy looked stricken. Not only had she ended up in a minimal cluster with her husband, but New York’s reigning hostess, this month’s ring-mistress of the century, had spotted them and felt compelled to make this ambulance run to save them from social ignominy.
