He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. “I will send you a copy,” Mr. “I must take them,” she said, to help herself over her own incredulity. “Serves you right if I’d cracked your skull. Blood, they say, won't come out. God, how old are they now? They must be teenagers.
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