He lifted her from the floor. There were no mourners. The doctor had sown a seed, carelessly. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. I had a hunch.
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