Manning, with a baffling smile. Wood fancied he recognised. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. “It was the night you left Paris. ” Brendon reappeared, followed by a tall thin man with a stubbly brown moustache and restless grey eyes.
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