You are your own Heaven and your own Hell, Lucy. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. “In all fairness,” she thought to herself as she coaxed his mouth toward her left nipple.
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