Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. But all of that was forgotten. "I'll gibbet the rascal. . Ramage!” she began, and his mouth sealed hers and his breath was mixed with her breath. She had heard the trader utter it many times. She remembered abruptly that she was really living upon his money. It had been her home for hundreds of years. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. She missed them already. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
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