“I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. ‘But with more courage in her little finger than in many another female’s entire body. The cook tried to ply her with spiced meat and fish soup. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet.
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