‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. ’ Speeding down the two flights of stairs, Gerald mentally thanked God that it was the practice of himself and Roding—in case of emergency, of which this was a prime example—to stable their horses at the posting inns all the way to London. Her wings were oddly weak, but for all that she could fly. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room. I jumped then—I was not even shaken.
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