His jawline was 78 masculine and severe, only tempered by the soft hazy color of his eyes. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. To stop her, Sebastian slapped her face and nearly dislocated her jaw. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. She had money of her own—much more than I have—and there was no need to squabble about that. ‘There is no question of a dispute.
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