’ Lucilla frowned. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. I am bothered. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess.
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