” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. ’ The sword was released to slide back into its scabbard. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned. “You let him touch you!” John whispered back. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple.
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