The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. I will not trust you. CHAPTER VI. She found herself looking sheepishly around the bedroom when a sudden tingle of electricity moved from her groin, fanning out from her belly. .
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