She could feel her face turning beet red. He closed the door. But I swear she ain’t told me nothing more, sir. I’m so glad you’re not angry. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. “It is concerning—our future relations,” Sir John pronounced ponderously. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. She was the High Priestess. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied.
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