‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. Not a breath was drawn. She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. She cursed Satan and screamed at the heavens, praying to Mary frantically. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. ” “Don’t worry yourself.
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