It had been easy to steal. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. Now what I want you to feel is this. They order me to get my man, and I get him.
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