CHAPTER III. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. His build was medium, he would never 5 tower over his peers, yet his shoulders were broadening, betrayed by an undeveloped set of pectoral muscles underneath his button-down shirt that she could tell frustrated him. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. See? You marry me. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. On these were thrown all the horrible contents of Jonathan's museum, together with the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard. Or else I would have finished him. For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life.
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