The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine. ‘How fascinating. ’ ‘I am whatever you like,’ he agreed pleasantly, ‘but nothing is going to stop me from searching for this dagger. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. She felt she had to go on. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s mouth dropped open. In vain Wood protested his innocence.
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