A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. ’ The sword was released to slide back into its scabbard.
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