And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. The Idle Apprentice. She was going through a new world with him side by side.
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