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were dialogue from the script, the statement Matilda had made so pertly when her Thorn had brought her to his inn. She hadn't intentionally said them; they'd just burst out. |
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The screenplay's Thorn had been impressed that Matilda was eager to assume her role as serving wench. Would this Thorn react similarly? She hoped so. At least it would be a sign of human kindness from this difficult, remote man. |
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Sure enough, the look he turned on her seemed surprised, one dark brow raised higher than the other. "If you intend to repay me by work, I'll have to find you something to do, won't I, Miss Walker?" There was irony to his tone, though for once he didn't sound angry. |
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Perhaps she had misjudged him. He had saved her life, after all. And he hadn't abandoned her there on the riverbank. Now, he was simply holding her to the bargain they'd struck. |
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She was going to be a servant. A servant! With all her education. Her hard-won managerial expertise. |
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She gritted her teeth. "Whenever you're ready," she said, determinedly pleasant. After all, she wouldn't know the first thing about digging in to work at a primitive inn in the wilds of pre-Revolutionary Pennsylvania. If that was where she really was. Surely all this detail couldn't be a dream. |
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But to accept the alternative . . . |
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"Could you show me where I will stay?" she continued. "I haven't any other clothes, of course, but maybe I could freshen up a little anyway." Perhaps she could even find something resembling a bathroom, if any such thing existed. If not, then what? Outhouses? Chamber pots? |
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He pointed to the smaller of the two log structures. "You'll stay there. In the stable." |
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Picturing a bed of straw beneath a horse's hoofs, Mariah was horrified. "But" |
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"You wished for me to hire you, did you not?" |
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She nodded slowly. Her insides toiled and churned as though caught in an electric blender. No, not electric. Not here. |
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"That is where servants stay." With that, he abruptly |
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