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‘I do not believe you. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her.
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