There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue. “I was surprised, I admit,” he said. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely.
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