It was a letter. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. She entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom. ’ ‘Can’t say as I’m sorry to hear you say that, missie,’ confessed the sergeant, on a relieved note, as he locked the front door of the mansion and pocketed the key.
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