She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. It could not go on much longer, her luck. Monsieur is going inside perhaps?” But Sir John’s eyes were still riveted upon the poster, and his heart was beating with unaccustomed force.
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