Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. But his hand was withheld by Thames. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers.
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