They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. Obviously he is still interested. Considering how little he lets her have. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. PITT, the keeper of Newgate. Annabel thought, and thought again. Thames Darrell.
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