The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. “But I am sorry,” she exclaimed. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. She could feel Michelle’s nervousness leaching into her spine. It was a duel, you understand, and that is not permitted. “I’m thirsty.
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