” “Did it hurt when we did it?” His voice rose, inflamed with worry. She attacked his hair resolutely. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. She asked no further questions for the moment. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. Just as he reached them, the Comte de St Erme drew Valade a little apart and began to converse with him in rapid French. He pushed her back forcefully into her seat with his lips, his body automatically responding to her kiss.
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