’ ‘You didn’t care. He stepped quickly towards her. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. “He writes very well,” said Ann Veronica. “Thank you. One would think I had agreed to her going. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. “Want one?” Michelle deadpanned. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. I’m taking no chances.
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