The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. "He called me a wanton, Hoddy. In and out of consciousness she sailed, hearing voices from memory that she could not distinguish from reality. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. I mean Miss Charvill no harm. Not to go to her is wickeder than if I had run away with my friend's wife.
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