Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. ‘I’ll send one of my men to see you here this very evening. Click the link below to join and download your free copy of FATED FOLLY http://eepurl.
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