John Sheppard. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. " "Then you are taking me on?" Spurlock's eyes grew soft like those of a dog that, expecting the whip, saw only the kindly hand. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. “Not really. ” “Why?” asked Hetty. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him.
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