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Troubled Blood
Part One - 7
“Shit,” he said again, “sorry,” and immediately reached for a cigarette. “I’ve been kipping on the world’s most uncomfortable sofa and the kids have woken me up at the crack of fucking dawn every day. Want anything from the food bag?”
“Yes,” said Robin, throwing the diet to the winds. She was in urgent need of a pick-me-up. “Chocolate. English or Cornish, I don’t mind.”
“Sorry,” Strike said for a third time. “You were telling me about a social theory or something.”