Shari entered the room in a damp towel, fresh from the shower. He had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday came again. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. It had a tiny flaw, most bizarre. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. "Can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "I'll make it well worth your while. I am afraid because I love you, so that the mere thought of failure hurts. She could not say who, not yet.
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