C. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. But the Ramage affair needed clearing up, of course; it was a flaw upon that project. Sheppard. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard. Milky sunlight spilled on the floor.
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