“No,” she answered, reluctantly. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. "If I spoke to him, my interest might be misinterpreted. John eased off. They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. . “Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. ” “Do you still love him?” “Just the opposite.
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