Lucy slipped upstairs silently. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Another glass, Jack. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. “But I don’t see,” said Ann Veronica, “just how it fits the present situation. ” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia. Into one of these he waded and rolled and rolled, despite her commands. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face.
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