Diane Vorsack was a disaster waiting for a place to happen, with a heartily established dislike for the Beck clan. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles.
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