She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Sir Rowland," he added, in a deep whisper, "do you agree to my terms?" "I do," answered Trenchard, in the same tone. ‘Imbecile. She thought me— filthy. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. 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. And Ramage too—about Ramage there would always be that air of avidity, that air of knowledge and inquiry, the mixture of things in his talk that were rather good with things that were rather poor. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. I'm not particular what or where. Of the women felons' rooms nothing has yet been said. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. ” “It certainly was,” she admitted. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. And when I have steeped him to the lips in vice and depravity; when I have led him to the commission of every crime; when there is neither retreat nor advance for him; when he has plundered his benefactor, and broken the heart of his mother—then—but not till then, I will consign him to the fate to which I consigned his father.
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