He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. “I’ve had most of the things I wanted,” said Ramage, in the stillness of the night. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. He lowered himself on to her. They either ran to see or ran for shelter. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. Like stealing. She flew up from her stool and faced the door. I do not intend to allow you to forget.
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