He was still thickly clad in jeans. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. “I tell my Mom everything. I am certainly no ghost. ” Hill staggered to his feet and drew a folded paper from his pocket.
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