Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. “I don’t know. Three cars were lined up in the driveway. Wood chanced to be murdered by Blueskin, the fellow who just left the room, on the very night of his return, as it has thrown the house into such confusion, and so distracted them, that he has had no time as yet for hostile movements. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself.
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