“Don’t be a hypocrite. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. I could not hear his heart beat. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War.
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