Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. In a moment he was beside her. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. ‘Assuming she can prove her identity, does Remenham House belong to her?’ Mrs Sindlesham shifted her shoulders.
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