The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. “I will MAKE you love me! Until he has faded—faded into a memory. My natural parents both died a very long time ago and I have been on my own for a great deal of my existence. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. “But that’s not all. There was a black fear in his heart.
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