The Ragged Edge. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. They ought to put a lamp. ’ Gerald smiled. ‘Oh, peste. Get a license—just an idea of mine. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull.
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