Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. Diane Vorsack clicked her tongue in a “tsk”. “Then we must try and make London endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully.
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