Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. There was no need to be afraid for me. It was possible that his first impressions had not been correct. ” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. She removed the belt and drew down his zipper. 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.
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