She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. . . He touched her breast as if he was testing the waters of a cold lake. Say I will come to him. . Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you.
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