She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. At least I imagine so, if what Madame Valade claims is true. Bottles and glasses usurped the place of dishes and plates. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. They give themselves airs, but so it is.
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