The starling, on which the carpenter stood, was the fourth from the Surrey shore. People hounded him about the disappearances mercilessly for weeks after the concert, first the police, then the Becks, then people from school. A thousand eager assistants pressed behind him. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that.
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