mulled that over, although her mother was calling her impatiently. “Who’s we?”
Margaret smiled at her from the bed. It was not quite over yet, and there would be a period of trouble for Cornelia, but just at the moment she felt so sure and serene that it was all she could do not to stretch like a cat. “Me and my friend Mr. Kincaid,” she said.
Вы читаете Hours to Kill
