Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. My servant. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. ’ Roding gave a bark of derisive laughter and left the room. Lucy looked down, noticing that Michelle had left her shoes in the entryway. I’ll have to wait here, of course, which means you, Hilary—’ ‘Will have to do tomorrow’s patrol.
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