We can be married tomorrow in Paris. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. Except he was the only idiot who would stay. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. "We'll give them the slip yet, and hang that butcherly thief-taker upon his own gibbet.
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