She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Gerald’s judgement was borne out a moment later. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. Maggot. “Not only that,” he answered.
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