Finally she decided upon a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. Looking for something, or someone, probably. They're on the forward lounge in the saloon. “Thank you, ma’am. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand.
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