‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. She seemed to be endowed with superhuman strength. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold.
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