‘Not where we’re going. They are not your flowers. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. "Put up your blade, Sir Rowland," rejoined Jonathan, resuming his former calm demeanour, "King James the Third will need it. ’ ‘Don’t tell me,’ exploded his second-in-command. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud.
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