The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. It worked. The day was warm even under an overcast sky and Hilary, uncomfortable, shifted his weight. ‘They weren’t no soldiers. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. ‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. So the young fool had not told her! McClintock had suspected as much.
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