Little by little, she stopped hating him. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. ’ He held his hands out of the way, surrendering his chest for her assault. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man.
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