Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. ‘You have come to me in place of Gérard? But how is it you will help me?’ ‘That’s all right and tight. ‘She didn’t behave in the least like an émigré, if these people are anything to go by.
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