Her name was Rhea. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master. She knew it. She remained on guard. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey.
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