She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. “Believe me, I know. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. “We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. We went to the Embassy. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. Yet he stays.
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