" She glanced down at her dress again. "Would you like a wet towel or something for that cheek? Cold compress does help." She grinned ruefully. "I ...hould know!..." "Thanks. Aren't you going to change?" I asked, surprising myself. "It can't be very pleasant..." "Honey," she said, disappearing into the kitchen, "I ain't got a female wardrobe to hand." She returned with a wet kitchen towel and handed it to me. I gingerly patted my still stinging cheek with the towel and then pressed it on. “Fried chicken and potato salad. And I have some Indian samosas and a cold soup they called gazpacho, I think.”“Cold soup?” I asked. “I never imagined that. I’ll try it.”“I expect you’ll try everything, Tony,” Lissa laughed. “You can be our official taster.”“There’s no poison in here, is there, Kitten? The taster doesn’t particularly want this to be the last supper.”“If there is, we’ll sue the deli when you’re gone,” she giggled. “For mental distress and hardship.”“And loss of services,” Melody. More

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