Quite simply put, the two of them had had enough of each other. He had one hand buried deep in Reynolds’s sweaty hair; the other maintained a steady pressure on the knife at Reynolds’s throat. She saw the bouquet and bore down on it, shears raised. ”“Roland—” Alain began, and his tone was deadly in its gentleness.
Everything this girl’s aunt had feared had been true. Won’t you give me your pardon?”“Aye,” she said, and if he had taken her in his arms at that moment, she would have let him, and damn the consequences. Another branch snapped. Back when he had been long and going on tall but maybe not so ugly; back when the Tower hadn’t yet got its best hold on him.
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