” His face darkened. ‘But a spy I am not. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. org. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. “You’re getting too old to put things off, John. She remained standing stiffly, unable even to move. I hate to see you spoil yourself with guys like me.
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