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. Why don't you--"
"Ah, a bit late for that," said Raoul quietly. "The deed is done."
Baejling darted a swift glance at the reception line, where Madame President--looking extremely fit and healthy-continued to receive guests.
"What is this? Some kind of sick joke?"
Raoul removed a small vial from his purse, then began dabbing the contents on his lips.
"In about six hours," he said, speaking softly, under cover of music from a small orchestra, "your Madame President will start to feel extremely unwell. About an hour after that, she will be in excruciating pain and convulsions. In twentyfour hours, she will no longer be able to move her lower extremities. In forty-eight hours, she will be dead."
The Little One pulled a handkerchief out of one of the raincoat's pockets, handed the cloth to Raoul.
"Thank you, my friend," he said gravely, and began to wipe his lips.
Baejling's jaw sagged. "How--"
"The lipstick," Raoul said simply, taking extreme care to remove the last vestige. "The poison is in the lipstick. One of my favorite techniques. I wear a protective base coat underneath and I am quite careful, of course, never to ingest any myself. But it is always wise to take precautions. I am drinking the antidote for it now."
He consumed the contents of the vial, then examined his lips critically. Certain that every trace of the golden, poisoned lipstick was gone, he returned the mirror to his purse
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