Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation. " "Not in the least," replied Shotbolt, creeping beneath the table; "there's my staff. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better.
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