“I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. Again, he would ask a few questions, and Ruth would answer them. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. You see, I’m selfish. She spoke slowly. Where is he, Sir? Can I see him?" "No, that you can't," answered Mrs.
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