One could go to him and tell him one loved him. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. ‘Alors, now I am also a murderer. The Leads. They had refused.
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