“He dissembles,” he said. “Oh, please. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. This was what he missed. ’ ‘And she’d be right,’ Martha said severely.
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