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its doors forever. Numbers, indeed. Horrid little things. A frown etched deep into Johanna’s face as she descended the last stair into the taproom. Stifling a yawn, she scanned the inn’s public room, counting on collaring their lone boarder, Lucius Nutbrown. His payment would at least stave off the miller. Six empty tables and twelve unoccupied benches stared back. Must all the odds be stacked against her? To her right, through the kitchen
were a mite heavier than I credited.” “As long as you’re not hurt. You’re not, are you?” She studied her mother’s face for a giveaway twitch in her poor eye. Unlike her father—God rest his soul—her mother would make a lacking card shark. “I’m fine. Truly.” A weak smile lifted the right side of Mam’s mouth. With no accompanying twitch. Johanna let out a breath and grabbed a broom from the corner. First, she’d tackle scooping

