He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. Bête, she told herself fiercely. \" Michelle replied, and directed the subject back towards boys. ” “That’s rather a fine sort of holiday!” He made no answer for three or four seconds. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy. It was so easy to forget the imminent threats of being discovered during times of peace.
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