She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. ‘So it would appear. My death, probably. ‘How fascinating. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my comfort. ’ Upon which, she darted through the library door, galvanising both the sergeant and his two militiamen into action.
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