" Jack could stand no more. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. “Like a stab. So soft. ’ ‘I would have done, only you threatened to blow off my head,’ Gerald reminded her, laughing. You’ve got to take what you can get. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. There was nothing to be learned from her face. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall.
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