She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. ‘No, you don’t.
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