A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. “She can’t. ” His rhythm slowed to a grind. ‘What you can do, Lucy, rather than make enquiries, is introduce me to this comte and comtesse. " Sir Rowland's brow darkened.
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