There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist. A bad man, in fact. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. I don’t believe any one could have traced us here. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea.
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