Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. We both understood that. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor.
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