As for loving you, I do. Mrs. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. She searched for it for many days that stretched into weeks before she gave up. ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik.
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