There was a thaw. Lying in bed, Richard listened to the monotonous clatter of drops. Catriona rose early, whispering something about a pregnant maid, and assuring him that he would not go outside. Staring into the dark red canopy bed, Richard tried not to think about the gravity of the lead who settled inside him after a conversation with Catriona. But unsuccessfully. Wincing, he irritably reminded himself that the failure was not in the spirit of Kinsterov, especially of this magnitude, like the one he suffered.
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