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God help me. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. Fortescue’s steps, and encountered him with an air of artless surprise. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. ’ To her surprise, Captain Roding backtracked. .
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