So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. He had heard everything. Prudence shook her head. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer.
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