’ ‘Yes, that rather leapt to the eye,’ Gerald said, and the faint smile sent a lick of warmth down inside her. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. We’ve deserted the posts in which we found ourselves, cut our duties, exposed ourselves to risks that may destroy any sort of social usefulness in us. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. ” “If he has a key,” Ennison said, “how are you to be safe?” “I had bolts fitted on the doors yesterday,” she answered. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch.
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