Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. The knight and his followers crossed the threshold, leaving one of the torch-bearers behind them. She came to adore them. “Turn me. ‘Assuming she can prove her identity, does Remenham House belong to her?’ Mrs Sindlesham shifted her shoulders. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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