‘I doubt very much whether they are yours at all. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. ‘Come along. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. They are not your flowers. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. The vengeance of the assailants did not stop here.
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