She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. "Rather a devil," groaned her son, "to have done this. Leave the means to me.
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