Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. It was dangerous for her to dare approaching him and she knew the tremendous risk she was taking, but a part of her demanded that he be found. I'll tell you what. Agents were dispersed in all directions—offers the most tempting held out to induce the wavering to join the Chevalier's standard. \"You know what I like about guys, certain guys?\" Lucy looked in her direction again.
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