’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. Manning. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered.
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