Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront. ‘Am I a fool? Can I blow off a head with a pistol which is not loaded?’ ‘She has a point,’ conceded Alderley, relaxing a little as amusement burgeoned again ‘Ten to one she is a French spy,’ burst from Roding. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness.
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