That was the inconvenience of it; her head was swimming. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. Her anger parlayed with her confusion, as she realized that the new marriage was about as optional as the first one and her hunger was growing inside her like a weed. Journeying blindly half way across the world, this man had found his quarry.
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