She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. ‘Why?’ ‘Why take me to France? Why trouble himself with me, when so easily he could leave me to this Monsieur Remenham to keep?’ To Melusine’s instant suspicion, Martha bit her lip, drew a breath, and avoided her charge’s gaze. Now, more than ever, it was time to start running. We both understood that. Her heels made contact with Rhea’s knees and hobbled her with a crack.
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