‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts.
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