“You know what a fearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the whole world were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but he wouldn’t have any of it. “The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. Critically, she stared at her own features. "Whatever you say—you, behind those stars there, if you are a God. A.
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