’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. He returned to the car, Cokes in hand. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. Or else I would have finished him.
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