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The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. Why hadn't he admitted that he recognized the photograph? What instinct had impelled him swiftly to assume his Oriental mask? "Why?" asked O'Higgins. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. “See you. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating.
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