The helicopter lifted from her hand and hovered in the air. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. “Call me Annabel. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. It is not you who runs the risk of going dinnerless to-morrow.
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