His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. ‘Ask him. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. My father's chief fear, I must tell you, is from the baneful influence of Jonathan Wild. Vorsack sauntered into the room, sporting her usual toothy thin254 lipped grin. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands.
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