Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. ‘Don’t tell me. I met you here as Lady Ferringhall. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face.
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