“Damned Rascal!” he said. Her hormones were raging stupidly. Sir John once more looked around him. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. There was a gentle rustling of skirts.
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