“I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. “That is your sister’s name. ’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. He arrived at 6:29 sharp on the night of the Junior Prom.
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