” “There’s plenty of time,” said Ramage. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. It was Celeste’s idea. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. He was a philosopher. Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night.
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