” Mike said as he vigorously shook Martin’s hand. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. We WERE thieves. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. “Call me Cathy, John. “It is not an easy matter,” he said, “for me to offer you an altogether adequate explanation.
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