. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. Henceforth, I utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me. “Did it seem like I was in pain to you?” She smirked. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. But she did not speak. She suspected that he would take a mistress just as soon as they returned to Florence.
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