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Strike didn't often think about his time at Oxford. It had been a path away from his disorganized home life, and a door to another life, but one he'd not opened all the way. But today he was idle, waiting for his mark to come out of his mistress's flat in what looked like an Oxford building on a smaller scale. For the first time in years he thought about his tutor, a graying man with a sardonic smile that hid a razor sharp mind. When he'd told Brudden he was leaving Oxford, he had just nodded. "Right. Good luck."