‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. “I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. What is done cannot be undone.
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