She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. ’ She saw the weapon wrenched from Emile’s hand and he dropped to the bench of the pew and sat there, grasping helplessly at the welling blood on his arm. Though a few months younger than his companion Jack Sheppard, he was half a head taller, and much more robustly formed. She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. No, never mind about thanking me.
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