“It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. ‘Why?’ ‘Why take me to France? Why trouble himself with me, when so easily he could leave me to this Monsieur Remenham to keep?’ To Melusine’s instant suspicion, Martha bit her lip, drew a breath, and avoided her charge’s gaze. His assistance came too late. Spurling, half aside. He sat down.
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