‘You can’t go to England. Eight per cent. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. That for the men lay near the Lodge, with which it was connected by a dark passage. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed.
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