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Guns were impossible. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. "My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer. Surely our advice would have been worth having, at any rate. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. She had agonized over it for weeks. I just want him, and no one else will do.
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