A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. After all, this could never be the black sheep. “I am not in need of any. Was he your natural father? Did you know him?” “No, I didn’t. I know what I am doing better than you do. . The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark.
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