Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. The pistol was lowered slightly. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. And now I've another job for you. They are not your children, they never were. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. I had special ways of getting out of the basement without them noticing, and often I could smuggle a child or two out for 160 the day and they were never the wiser. “As I have explained many a time, Lucia, the maladies of the blood and flesh do not afflict us.
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