Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. This did not affect Spurlock. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. He tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat. ‘And, if this was not enough,’ went on the lady furiously, ‘you dare to say I am French.
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