He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. “We’re here to take your foster daughter down to the station to ask her a few questions sir. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. ‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci.
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