The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. "Hell's curses!" roared Jonathan. Melusine shrieked an imprecation, and ran the length of the aisle, searching for the weapon she had thrown. F. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese.
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