’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. ‘I have justice. “No you don’t!” said Ann Veronica, and walked out at a brisk and businesslike pace toward the house. “I believe that you would find her in some respects curiously altered. You must—you shall be mine.
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