When Kit woke, stiff necked and muddle headed, in the hard chair by the fire and noticed that Percy had gone, his first thought was disappointment, followed quickly by horror that he regretted the man’s absence. He ought to be pleased that Percy was out of his hands, back where he belonged. He ought to hope that Percy never showed his face again. Instead, Kit had to admit that he had . . . not minded Percy’s presence the previous night. He had even enjoyed it, enjoyed the man’s drunken chatter as much as he enjoyed his sober chatter. He had found it surprisingly satisfying to put Percy to bed,
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