But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. Spurling. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. ‘I am not a murderer. She answered slowly.
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