‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. She looked in the rear-view mirror. “I don’t know. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. ‘We were wondering about that. “We parted— that night the best of friends.
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