He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. . Father— dead. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Terence, meanwhile, who had followed him, did not remain silent, but recapitulated his story, for the benefit of Mrs. God help me. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling.
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