That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. “John. Sheppard, faintly. She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. “So how about this Friday?” He asked. The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe Jonathan Wild had survived the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering.
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