As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. He returned to the car, Cokes in hand. Sebastian had fetched tallow, which she angrily ordered him not to use, as she suspected its origin was not animal but human. Earles would permit.
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