, 13, Montague St. Spurlock advanced, the censer swung high. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. “I have made no arrangements as yet— none at all. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father.
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