Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. \" She looked at Mike. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. “May I hear?” “It really isn’t much to tell,” Drummond answered. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
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