She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted. I’ve—dreads. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. Where was the harm in letting her go? She could not get far.
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