She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death.
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