If my Mom found out, she’d kill me. It isn’t illusions—for us. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. He was in great pain and it meant that he would be in casts for twelve weeks. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him.
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