Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. "Suppose he does. She did not have to investigate that his door was locked. There was no rush. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. Wanted a clean sweep for elbowroom. She hated living like that. And you shall have a share of the gold for yourself. And grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her force against it, while Jack seconded her efforts from within. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it.
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