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“Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. The priest normally assigned the duty in the Iovelli family had fled days before from the chapel. Are you prepared to do it?” Her hands clenched. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt.
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