“How dare you? You are trying to kidnap my babies!” Clotilde demanded. Then she looked up at Brendon. ’ She edged sideways a little more, her eyes on the pistol in his hand. ‘Least of all, one who takes advantage of another’s misfortune. " The Wastrel laughed. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. In that sense, my strategy worked. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt.
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