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. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. Her confession was still unmade. All my life I've had to fight human wolves to hold what I have. She’s already spoken for. I want you to be my lover. But, it can't be helped.
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