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F. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. I killed him, Nigel. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. He grasped Lucilla’s elbow. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. He was angry. "Eggs for me! You mistake, child.
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