. \" \"All right. The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. “Well,” she admitted. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. 3. ’ Her face fell. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir.
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