Sebastian snorted, “If it isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black!” “Your house is host to the lowest forms of life, those without morals! I will no longer allow my children to live 210 in such a house. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her.
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