She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. I’m minded to take a whip and beat some sense into you. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. "I was born in the South Seas and I am on my way to America, to an aunt. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation.
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