“You see,” said Ann Veronica, with the air of one who shares a difficulty, “I’ve promised to go. Blueskin might have butchered you and your brat before I'd have lifted a finger to prevent him, if it hadn't suited my purposes to do so, and he hadn't incurred my displeasure. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. Wood started to his feet. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed.
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