There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. My, um, my curfew.
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