She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. His face turned a dark crimson. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps.
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