Ramage?” he asked. There was a lot of that, John, a great deal of hunger. She was to be a Corsair’s Bride. “Good God!” he exclaimed. ” He made a step toward her. “I—I shall be all right directly. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. She can be of use to me yet. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. But this was a vicomte’s sister.
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