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But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back. Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. . “No, he grabbed my hand. “I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. ’ Martha frowned.
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