And Michael was determinedly trying to wreak its final destruction by tugging at the buttons in an effort to expose her breast. Her cheeks were flushed, her light blue overshirt darkened in huge patches where bathtime for three small children had extended its wetness to her also. Half her pale blonde hair was hanging in damp twists around her neck and face while the rest of it spewed untidily from a lopsided knot to one side of the top of her head. God, you look a mess! she told herself in disgust. She muttered something not very complimentary, hitched six-monthold Michael further up her hip, and rushed the final few steps which brought her to the hall extension-then stopped dead with her hand hovering half an inch above the telephone receiver, her attention caught by the reflection in the mirror on the wall behind the telephone table. THE telephone started ringing as Rachel was coming downstairs after putting the twins to bed.
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