Irritation gained the upper hand.
"You asked. Now, may we continue? The hour grows late."
"Oh, do please lead on,"
Fitzgerald mocked.
If Richard didn't need the other man's
aid, he'd send him packing.
What must it be like to be needed not for
the man you were but for the title you held? A title to be passed to someone
else upon one's death. Richard glanced at his friend as they walked. How did a
man know who sought the power of his title and who were true friends?
"I thank you."
Fitzgerald shrugged, but the hardness in
his expression eased. "You owe me."
"Of course." A debt Richard
would gladly pay.
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