’ ‘But he’s a major of militia, miss. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. She was suddenly very aware of the room, the television still blaring, and the chill in the air. “For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. I don’t know. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone.
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