Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. “We’re here to take your foster daughter down to the station to ask her a few questions sir. But in a moment she believed she understood. Ann Veronica wiped a scalpel, put a card over a watch-glass containing thin shreds of embryonic guinea-pig swimming in mauve stain, and dismantled her microscope. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage.
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