‘I knowed he were a wrong ’un, but that. Of course there are, millions of them. I made the pies. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace.
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