Let me make your future for you. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. She drew a long breath. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me.
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