Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. ” “You alarm me,” she murmured, smiling.
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