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‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. ‘But she will not shoot you,’ Melusine told him flatly. I have done n-nothing. “You’ve got my view,” he said, after a pensive second.
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