He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. The investigators should have thought to check inside the garbage can. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. Maggot had disappeared. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing.
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