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“That would make you a very pitiful saboteur who carries a knife for nonviolent purposes." His crimson cat eyes were laughing at me. I smiled. "Then it's just as well that I'm not sorry. I wish I'd left you longer." "Well, that's a pity." He leaned toward me. His collarbone was damp, and I realized suddenly that my dress still clung to me in pale, damp folds. "Because I had just been thinking of ways you could make it up to me." He touched my chin with a finger. The air was still and hot in my throat. Abruptly his hand dipped down to pull the key out of my bodice. He twirled it as he sat back, laughing, then hung it on one of the belts strapped across his chest. "You--" I choked out. Then I lunged at his throat. He blocked me easily with one arm, but we both tumbled over; he landed on his back with me on top of him. "You see?" he said. "Not a good assassin.” — Rosamund Hodge