” Sir John frowned. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. It was hard to meet that gaze. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. She kissed him on the bridge of his nose. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. “Won’t you tell me why you have come to England?” she said. I shall find him yet. .
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