Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her.
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