It's precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's throat, as to order Jack Sheppard's execution. ‘Because he knows you for an imposter,’ Melusine flashed. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so.
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