F. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. Instead, her husband was probably wise. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. Capes made a quick movement as if to bite that aggressive digit, but it withdrew to Ann Veronica’s side. Her eyes were wide and bright.
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