’ She saw suspicion darken his gaze. Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. “It is Michelle, John. \"Borrowed a pencil. I'll go alone.
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