He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. But that possibility had been anticipated. ‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. He was snoring stupidly. “Well?” he asked her tersely. Nigel Ennison was he.
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