It was bad luck to go to Canongate. It must have cut him. “Thanks, Cathy. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. “Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. From the unlovely hillside his glance strayed to the several five-story towers of the pawnshops.
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