He backed away from her. “I just came to you and put myself in your hands. ‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. There was no one else in the doorway.
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