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needs tending." He turned and strode away, leaving her staring. |
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As Mariah freshened up, she thought of the previous night. Thank heavens her sleep had been untroubled. No voice had demanded that she right a grievous wrong. |
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With everything else, that would have been all she'd needed. |
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When she was ready, she carried the heavy, dripping bags with her outside. She set them on the ground outside the kitchen door and opened it. René had already hung a large kettle over a roaring fire. The entire kitchen was filled with a heavenly aroma of something hot and meaty cooking. Since it was too late to cook breakfast, Mariah assumed René was working on lunch. |
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"Sorry I'm late," she said. |
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René, kneading dough on one of the tables, looked at her with his large toad's eyes. He wore a wrinkled gray shirt with a stand-up collar. "So am I, mademoiselle." His voice was stern. "Perhaps you would like me to wait on you in your room." |
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"Of course I would." She grinned at his glare. "But instead, let me take over while you sit down. Put your feet up. Get used to giving me orders." |
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His stare gave way to a smile. "Ah, you are in a fine mood today, are you not, Anglaise?" He called her that once more, although this time there was not the anger in the word she had heard before. |
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"Certainly, Français." Though she wasn't sure she'd gotten the form of the word correct, his smile widened. But he was right. She was in a good mood, without knowing why. Maybe because she was alive. Thanks to Thorn. |
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But despite his having saved her twice, she understood she could not rely on him. |
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She began kneading the soft, sticky bread dough. She'd made bread before in one of her early incarnations, and at least this part was familiar to hera reminder of the too few pleasant memories of her youth. How they'd cook it without a gas oven, though . . . |
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