And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. He would be so disappointed. ‘If he needed sanctuary, it raises grave doubts about his activities. She had no intention of fighting fair. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child.
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