If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. It was the gallows. “I am sure of it. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites.
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