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... nding footsteps. Seeing Lancelot’s face contort with irritation upon seeing Oliver confirmed to him his and Verdant’s suspicions that he’d planned that letter to make things as inconvenient as he possibly could.
He tore down the corridor, forcing the serving girl to bow and step out of his way. "What are you doing here?" He hissed.
"I have an invitation," Oliver said innocently. "You signed it yourself, didn’t you?" Again he held it up in the man’s face, but kept a tight grip on ...
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