His glasses were gone. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. “I do not even know who you are. “Sorry to be so terribly rude, Martin. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. ‘And I have a very good mind to kill you.
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