“You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. ’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Gerald said calmly, sipping at his burgundy. Even her debt to him was a triviality now.
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