Her whole face stiffened with suppressed anger. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. “It’s bound to be all right,” she said. ‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. ’ ‘Lord, yes,’ agreed Gerald, in mock horror. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less.
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