No Sleep Till Bonynge
They came up the escalator together: a very tall man, with grey hair and an expensive-looking coat, and a much smaller woman, also grey-haired, but with a coat that, if equally expensive, didn’t seem designed to say anything about the wearer. When I asked them if I could help them find anything, they spoke simultaneously. I think she said something about Mozart operas; he, much more loudly, said, “No, we don’t need anything. She’s sleep-deprived.”
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