A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. Sit down, I command you. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad.
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