Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. Still, the respite was sufficient for Spurlock to look about for some weapon. . ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips.
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