Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. Gladstone would have to a carelessly displayed interior on a dissecting-room table. “Is Larry already in bed?” Cathy nodded yes. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. ’ Then Hilary became serious again.
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