He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes.
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