Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. Maggot, that I'm engaged," said Kneebone, a little disconcerted. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. Pity you aren’t under my command. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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