Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. ‘It is seldom enough I am visited by anyone at all, let alone a personable young redcoat. A smile flickered upon her lips as she glanced towards Brendon, who was very serious indeed. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself.
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