’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old. I've been hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!" She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in her wisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end—in the veranda chair.
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