Sheppard. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist. ‘And I trust you will pardon my inadequacies. "I am very wicked," she said. ‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. ” He greeted her.
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