Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. "Certain. He thought of his severe attitude towards the girl who was rightly and with contempt refusing his measured help. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. He loved you. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. We Spurlocks take our medicine, standing.
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