“A small pile of fifty-pence chips lay in the centre of the table, the antes from each player. In front of him were tumblers of whisky, glasses of wine, piles of cash and chips, and a couple of overflowing ashtrays, surrounded by fragments of crisps and sandwich crumbs. There was a fug of smoke in the room, and outside rain and wind lashed the tall windows, which overlooked the English Channel and the lights of the Palace Pier. They always played Dealer’s Choice, and each time it was his turn, B...ob Thornton, a long-retired Detective Inspector, always chose Draw — the poker game Grace liked least of all. He glanced at his watch: 12.38 a.m. Following the tradition of their weekly Thursday-night poker games, the last full round had started at half past midnight, and there would be just two more hands after this one. It had not been a good night for him; despite wearing his lucky turquoise socks and his lucky blue-striped shirt, he’d had unremittingly lousy cards, made a couple of bad calls, and had been seen on an expensive bluff.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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