Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. Courtlaw rose to his feet. “Do you see what I was talking about, Strings?” No one is going to want to hear a note from you until you have tone like. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. People spoke of him everywhere as a young man of great promise, a politician by instinct, a keen and careful judge of character. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. One or the other.
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