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“I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. I want to hammer myself against all this that pens women in. ‘Have you any more pretty toys like that knife about you?’ ‘The girl’s a regular arsenal,’ Hilary snapped, giving up into his senior’s hand the nasty little weapon he had snatched. “Call me Cathy, John. "It is your son. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted.
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