She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. “My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields. He was asleep when Jonathan entered, and growled at being disturbed. When he saw, his roars could be heard across the lagoon. I speak no harm of her.
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