That would be an unkind twist of fate. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. As he took his departure, he whispered to the Jew: "Take him dead or alive; but if we fail now, and you heard him aright in Seacoal Lane, we are sure of him at his mother's funeral on Sunday. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace.
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