The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. "You are not. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form.
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