She picked up the hand cannon. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. You must live for me. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. Papa has sent me to be religieuse. The risk I run is nothing to yours.
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