She wanted him, she needed sex, but the two ideas had not formed an equation where a concrete result could be deduced. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. " "I know where she will be found, and how," rejoined Jack with a shudder. Wait a moment. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes.
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