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“Right. Helen of Troy.” A small furrow formed between his dark eyebrows. “How would that be ironic?”
She laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? Just look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
She laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? Just look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
They were on the same side.
The two of them, against the melons of the world.
The two of them, against the melons of the world.
“I do enjoy gazing upon a well-carved man.”
“He’s called ‘the Long Man of Wilmington,’ Aunt Marmoset.” Lark scribbled in her journal.
“How odd. I’d been under the impression his name was Corporal Thorne.” Aunt Marmoset came and put her hand in Kate’s pocket. “My dear, hold onto that one. Tightly, and with all four limbs.”
“He’s called ‘the Long Man of Wilmington,’ Aunt Marmoset.” Lark scribbled in her journal.
“How odd. I’d been under the impression his name was Corporal Thorne.” Aunt Marmoset came and put her hand in Kate’s pocket. “My dear, hold onto that one. Tightly, and with all four limbs.”
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"What to make of this man? He was proper. He was passionate. He had the public demeanor of an iceberg, but he kissed her as if she were his oasis in a vast, arid desert.
What are you doing to me? He'd whispered.
Charlotte had no idea.
But whatever it was, he was doing it back."
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