The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. ‘Melusine…Melusine. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit.
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