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Her eye was caught by awith a soldier in a red jacket and white breeches Slim and fair-haired, he was dressed in a wide-skirted yellow brocade coat that had seen better days, knee breeches and stockings, and shoes with silver buckles Despite the tarnish on the buckles and the stockings in need of a good scrub, he looked very fine for such a setting as this A gentle heap
As he waved his slender hands in broad, artistic gestures, a voice in Meg’s head chanted: It must be him, it must be him
This was just as she had always iined…
She was beside hinored her “It’s too bad,” he was saying “One has to travel loves!”
“Captain Grant?” She sounded strangely breathless
Bothhad eyes only for one With an aching sense of disappointer found his face aristocratic or refined Instead, as he raked his gaze over her, he appeared unpleasantly sly, his eyes far too close together, his jaw far too narrow And there was so unwholesome about him
The chant in her head had changed
Do not be hied Please do not be him!
Her as granted The fop esture with his artist’s hand toward an even glooh the crowd, easily avoiding the few patrons sober enough to reach for her She was no longer afraid, just eager for this to be over
“Captain Grant?” she called again, a little desperately now, her voice all but lost in the hubbub
A brute with er unerringly directing her to the only occupant A man sat with his back to her, slouched over the drink he held cupped in his big hands Slowing to a stop, Meg let her eyes travel over hi with each inch Even the voice in her head was silenced
He earing a worn green jacket that pulled taut over his wide shoulders, and a faded plaid that appeared alht His hair was unpowdered, and it was not so th caught at his nape A ribbon of shock was slowly unfurling in Meg’s stomach
This or Grant she had pictured in herHis back was far too broad, his ar on the table’s surface, far too well s, stretched out fro He looked careworn and scruffy and far gone froed company
This isn’t him This cannot be him
“Captain Grant?”