Proof that the scoundrel had risen from the dead—for he was dead to his father! He glared at the female whose appearance in England had revived those painful memories—churning unbearably since Brewis Charvill had brought him the news and put him in the worst of tempers—and the fury spilled out. He pushed her back forcefully into her seat with his lips, his body automatically responding to her kiss. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. The smell assaulted them even before they entered the restaurant, greasy and savory. He will be dependent on you.
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