I may as well think. . Give me the books. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. Two hours had come and gone during this tantalizing occupation. The younger of the two, who was seated next to Jack, and seemed to monopolize his attention, could not be more than seventeen, though her person had all the maturity of twenty. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. One of these was a classification of women into women who are and women who are not hostile to men. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles.
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