His eyes never left her face. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. Like stealing. ’ ‘Now then, missie,’ began the sergeant severely, ‘just you hand over that dagger. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind.
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