"You may," replied Jack: "I'll fight for you to the last gasp. ” His shoulders relaxed. So she built a shrine. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. ‘Murder is serious business, Gianfrancesco.
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