One ofthose don't-look-at-me-as-if-I-were-a-monster sort of conversationsthat start out with one party James fingered his upper lip thoughtfully as he gazed at thecomputer. What was itabout me then? How was I so capable of taking things in my stride? Ilost that naive confidence somewhere along the line. Well, perhaps we can make that happen forhim.
Webberly hadtold him that the girl had died at two, and Lynley saw that shecouldn't have been much less than that at the time of this finalpicture. And for good measure, he knocked the biro fromPitchley's hand. He'dhad his suspicions. He drank, but he observed me as he did so.
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