Martin scrutinized Lucy more closely, but Lucy could tell that Michelle’s credibility had been damaged as her stifled sobs were heard upstairs. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.
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