This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. ’ ‘Success?’ Her eyes narrowed. “Call me Cathy, John. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. He forced her arm back, away, stretching it out to keep the weapon at bay.
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