Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. The second look told me I was wrong. She recoiled.
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