She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. "I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. "Oh, Heavens!" cried Mrs. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. He turned.
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