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Alicia?”
“Why? What’s happened? Is something wrong?”
“No. I mean, not exactly—I’m treating her, and I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about
her. Whenever’s convenient.”
“I don’t suppose we could do it on the phone? I’m rather busy.”
“I’d rather talk in person, if possible.”
Max Berenson sighed and mumbled as he spoke to someone off the phone. And then: “Tomorrow
evening, seven o’clock, my office.”
I was about to ask for the address—but he hung up.
