Her long arms handled the sword with a memorized ease and grace. ” “I sent a telegram to say I was all right. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor.
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