Anticipating this, Wild avoided the shot by suddenly, ducking his head. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. “I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. She advanced, stabbing at him.
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