There were no mourners. Kneebone smiled assent. He was mad. “We will take it then,” he said, “that you have refused or ignored one request I have made you this morning. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. ” Mike knocked on the thin core door that sealed her and Shari’s bedroom from the outside world.
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