He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. He swung it open and then used his body to pin her against her seat. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship.
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