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Before she reached it, footsteps thudded behind her. She turned. The short man had come back. In the sunlight, his looks startled her. He had odd, toadlike features, with a wide mouth and large, protruding eyes beneath jutting brows. Mariah did not recall a similar character from the screenplay. "Thorn says that you indeed work here now." He did not sound pleased. "Come with me, Anglaise." He practically spat the last word. |
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Mariah hesitated at his apparent venom. "Oh, I'm not English," she said as pleasantly as she could muster. "I'm American." |
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"Of course you are, now that the French have ceded this territory to Les Anglais." He walked toward the guest house, and she hurried to catch up with him. He wasn't much taller than she and his legs were short, so she had no trouble matching his strides. |
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"No," she replied, "I mean I was born in the United States." |
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He stopped again and stared at her, incredulity bulging his eyes even further. "Pardon?" |
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She lowered her eyes for a moment as she thought fast. If she was when and where she suspected she was, there were no states, and there was nothing united about the colonies. "The colonies, I mean. I was born in . . . in Maryland," she fabricated. "I consider myself a native, no matter what my family's heritage." |
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"Commendable," he said, although he did not sound convinced. "In any event, Thorn says you must stay, and so you must. You were asleep in the right room. And soon I will give you some duties." There was a gleam in his strange eyes, as though he were contemplating the worst chores to hand to her. |
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No doubt at the direction of his boss, Thorn. |
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René took her through a wooden door in the back of the guest house. "Here is the kitchen," he said. It was like no kitchen she had ever seen except in films. There were no familiar appliances, no cheerful tilework or vinyl. Instead, the large room was drab and dark, constructed of the same mostly natural materials she had seen before. One wall was |
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