He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. ‘And I do understand. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. It reverberated in the silence. I mean Miss Charvill no harm. Beck, it smells wonderful in here.
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