Out of these he selected a faded parchment and restored the rest to safety. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. It was impulsive and natural.
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