His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling. Everything proclaimed the mischievous propensities of the recent occupants of the chamber. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend.
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