’ A tiny giggle escaped her, and she lowered the pistol a trifle. “How has the world taken it?” he asked. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna. "That was the lad's name," returned the stranger.
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