The Wastrel did not relish this. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. And this time the departure had a tremendous effect of finality. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again.
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