“I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do it much,” said Ann Veronica. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. His age was not far from fifty. Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s.
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