Kevin Chen, Martin’s father, was equally stately, his dark brown eyes bright with the fire of extreme intelligence. Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. “We’re in for it. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. “I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell.
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