She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. ’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. It hardly served his interests. She looked at him as he fingered a small switch on the side of the helicopter’s door. ‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. Lucy ate without passion.
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