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April 15 - April 18, 2022
She hated tithe day more than anything, and her list of hates was amply long.
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It was best not to speak, even when one thought they had something that needed saying. It was never worth it.
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“No one does, love. It’s why I’m alone at five and twenty.” Nim’s startled laugh came out in a rush of breath, and she had to push back the emotion she felt welling in her chest. Margery hated that sort of nonsense. “Five and twenty?” Her tone was coy, but surely, they both felt the tension beneath it. “Five. And. Twenty,” she repeated.
Nim didn’t countenance rumors. The truth, she’d found, was often far worse than any idle gossip would bear.
Her anger flared. “Do you always speak with such condescension?” “Yes. How else is one to know of my superiority?”
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His expression melted into something entirely solemn, his voice low. “I’m bare to you. I vow to only speak the truth to you.”
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His mouth shifted as if it could not decide whether it meant to form a smile or a frown then settled into a stern line.
He leaned against the desk with his long legs crossed and his wide, bare chest edged in shadow.
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A shiver ran down Nim’s bare arms. “How did he get free?” Warrick shook his head and stood. “You’re digging, Nim. You’ll not like what you find.”
Tonight. A single word had never looked so disagreeable.
Nim was used to giving things up. Practice never made it any more pleasant.