She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. She would never forget the agony of that first meal in the great dining room. ‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile. . " And he raised it in his arms. Yon must be mine to-night. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers.
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