. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. I have calculated my chances, you perceive. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. I don't know whose brainless head it may be, but it'll do for my collection. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. The Supper at Mr. Because of the Dance.
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