“When did you look up my mother’s records at the Joliet library, Michelle?” Lucy asked, trying not to incriminate herself by sounding confrontational. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. ‘Come,’ she called. Squire and master. "Your name is Spurlock?" "It is.
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