 a neatly pressed short-sleeved shirt of peppermint green cotton seersucker that might otherwise do duty as a slipcover for a good-sized armchair. He knows her name is Sybil Hadley because he's read it upside down in the maroon leather register at the front of the desk lobby. Sybil, Sybil, Sybil, Sybil, Sybil. He practices, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Yesterday, at the church in Dives-en-Mer...