It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. "They will kill me, if they find me, as they would have killed my husband and child. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. ” His voice conveyed studied moderation. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully.
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