Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. You didn’t even put the twelve words. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. Listen to me, Thames.
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