‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. ‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side. Always the other things remained. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray.
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