Upon the aforementioned fateful day when I wore the mistletoe-green dress, no sooner had I arrived at Dr. Ragostin's office than the doorbell rang. And rang, and rang, and kept ringing worthy of a fire alarm. "Help! For the love of God, someone help me!" shouted a man's voice in tones aristocratic, melodramatic, indeed nearly operatic. Not in keeping with British restraint at all. "Make haste!" Did I not discern a foreign accent in his deep voice?

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