Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. ’ ‘Then leave me to guard myself, and do not ask me questions any more,’ she snapped, and crouched down suddenly, searching about for her dagger. Can you afford to give this time? There are your own affairs to think of. He then said that if she would not obey him in this course she should “never darken his doors again,” and was, indeed, frightfully abusive. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. Indeed I am! I would make this country a collective monarchy, and all the girls and women in it should be the Queen. I don’t love you.
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