She felt the warm nearness of his. Each time that we meet I try to kill you. He reached for her, and she struck savagely. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope.
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