The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. ’ ‘And I love the way you call me imbecile,’ finished Gerald. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect.
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