He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. Shakily, she rose with the sword and drove it through Rhea’s heart. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. Wild. Miching Mallecho. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window.
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