’ ‘Oh, that,’ Gerald said cautiously. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. She moved then, fast, taking refuge behind a Chinese screen that was set beside the four-poster at the back of the room. Lucy howled as tooth met bone, her arm clamped in the trap of Rhea’s huge canines.
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