‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. I was being stupid. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. You were wide the mark, physically; otherwise you had him pat. “Want one?” Michelle deadpanned. Near the door stood a pile of deal planks, behind which the carpenter ensconced himself in order to reconnoitre, unobserved, the proceedings of his idle apprentice.
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