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Where Thorn was so different. So unpredictable. |
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At least now her clothes were clean. Her hands, though ugly and raw-looking, were long past stinging, She'd simply have to get over feeling sorry for herself for their appearance. Better to dwell on how good she felt at having developed one small skill herethis laundry business. |
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René had gone off to do other chores. She decided to ask whether he had any garments he wanted washed. |
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She found him in the stable cleaning out a stall. Great! He hadn't foisted that nasty chore on her. |
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At her question, his eyes bugged in surprise. "Merci, Mariah. Yes, I do have things I would like to have washed." |
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He brought from his room a bulging shirt, its sleeves tied together over a bunch of clothing inside. As he handed the bundle to her, his look was quizzical. "Perhaps you would like to be relieved of tending the fire for supper?" |
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She shook her head. "That's not why I offered to wash. If my chores are supposed to include keeping the fire going all day, I'll do that, too." |
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He nodded thoughtfully. Then his small smile brightened his entire ugly face. "There is more to you than I thought, Mademoiselle Mariah. Someday soon I will show you how I cook my famous potage de caille." |
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Mariah translated in her mind: quail soup. Maybe that was the equivalent of chicken soup in the wilderness. In any event, she felt a tiny thread of pride wriggle through her. She was meeting with the approval of this formerly unfriendly Frenchman. |
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Now, if only Thorn would come to like her. |
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Not the way the screenplay Thorn liked Matilda, she told herself sternly, hurrying from the stable with her arms filled with dirty clothes. But if she was going to be around for a while to accomplish whatever Pierce had sent her to do, she'd need to feel she could trust the real Thorn. |
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To have another friend here, in the middle of nowhere. |
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Impulsively, she stopped in front of Thorn's stone house. Shifting the lump of clothes under one arm, she knocked on the door. |
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