She kicked him in the shin, trying to knock him off his feet. I should be sorry if Shotbolt got the reward. He awoke, strangely content. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. ‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna.
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