Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. “No, stay, Lucy. ’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. ” She tried to sound convincing as she looked away hotly. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry.
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