’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. ‘Obstinate fool!’ She saw Gosse raise a hand, and dug into her nun’s habit for the knife she had not thought to need. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. He taught her about crowds, which men were the evilest, how to locate and dispose society’s garbage.
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