She relented out of exhaustion, yet he would not let her near Marina, his embrace tightening. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. It’s not you—not a bit. “It’s precious unromantic. "Shall I fetch it for you, Sir?" "By all means. “Annabel;” he moaned. A quick flush stained her cheeks. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person.
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