The door leaned inward. We already had a place to mislay blame. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. “I did it for love of you,” he said. Had he not said as much at Remenham House? She allowed him to march her through the chapel without resistance. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. John’s demeanor shifted.
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