After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. . To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. Wood. So far she had not heard the sound of his voice. She was alone with a deadly enemy. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed.
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