She pointed suddenly at the portrait. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. So confident, Emile? ‘You fire the gun and you make one big noise. That’s the fact about them. “Cheveney!” she repeated. Somehow I haven’t connected the idea with you.
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