Panic leapt into his eyes as he brought his wrist up just in time to parry the blade. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. Or did he? Perhaps he had found another.
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