The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. “That’s a weird name. ” Annabel moistened her dry lips with a handkerchief steeped in eau de Cologne. I desire, Sir, you'll recollect yourself. Explain to Sir John our feelings. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark.
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