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Sam tried to catch hold of the memory. His brain had been playing tricks on him. No wonder really, considering the way that woman had attacked him. What woman? He couldn’t bring the picture into focus. He was looking through a mist; no, it was rain. She had come at him through a curtain of rain. He lifted a hand and felt the bandages on his head. A blow to the back of the head, that’s what the police said. How did she do that? She hadn’t been behind him. No, she was in front of him.
He groaned. He would have to talk to that London policeman again. She hadn’t hit him. She couldn’t have. There had been someone else behind him. Why? Why had anyone hit him? Baby-stealing! He’d tried to talk to the young solicitor about baby-stealing. He wanted to tell him it was all lies, and he knew it for a fact because ...
Because what? How could he be so sure?
He struggled against the headache and the fractured images, and found the memory he was seeking.