" "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. He saw her young and graceful back as she descended from the carriage, severely ignoring him, and recalled a glimpse he had of her face, bright and serene, as his train ran out of Wimbledon. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. It was easy to recognize, the one thing that had stayed the same over the years. She was beautiful once, Lucia.
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