He fixed it. Winifred pointed to the door. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. Without Sheila, the denizens of the neighborhood might forget they had the ability to communicate with each other. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. "Very well, Mr.
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