McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. "Your son," answered the boy. Rhea’s head exploded into a spray of blood, brain, and bone. ‘You mean—’ ‘Hilary!’ Lucy turned excited eyes back to Alderley.
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