At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. It was hard to resist. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. ” They passed out on to the pavement, and the commissionaire called a hansom. ’ He only laughed. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. ’ ‘You surprise me. Never sent for the shirt.
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