“It can’t make any difference to you, and there are not half a dozen people in Paris who could tell us apart. ’ He thought Roding gave him an odd look, but his next question was already in his head. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me.
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