She found herself looking sheepishly around the bedroom when a sudden tingle of electricity moved from her groin, fanning out from her belly. She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now.
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