She heard their feet and muffled voices. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Spurling and Marvel rose too. She worried for Cathy, working double shifts at the nearby family restaurant to help make ends meet. “It is the first moment we have let him out of our sight,” Brendon exclaimed, as he hastened across the street. “Our ways happened to lie together. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label.
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