“I’m going to kill your weakness for you. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary.
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