At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring. Walpole's order to that effect—but not before. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack.
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