His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. ‘Why?’ ‘Why take me to France? Why trouble himself with me, when so easily he could leave me to this Monsieur Remenham to keep?’ To Melusine’s instant suspicion, Martha bit her lip, drew a breath, and avoided her charge’s gaze. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. Some of the hotel guests can act as witnesses.
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