But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child.
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