I trust you will not accuse me of discourtesy if I express my pleasure that henceforth our ways will lie apart. You’ll end up dead, that’s what. She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. ‘I’m following a scent. Conscientious objectors to that process are not permitted, she found, in Canongate.
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