She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. The truth at once flashed across his mind. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented.
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