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She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. That’s what I mean.
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