’ Gerald hissed in a doubtful breath. Least of all myself. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. ” “No you’re not. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark.
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