It was his tall stance and his pale skin that drew him out of the crowd. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away. You never saw him before yesterday. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. Relief flooded her. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners.
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