Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies. She knew, too, she must not hesitate. ‘Oh, mon dieu.
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