He was asleep. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. He knew. The terror faded from her eyes. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. He must be tied behind the carriage. She was obliged to concede that his features were pleasing, his strength and vitality attractive; and there was no denying how well this uniform of a militia suited his figure, which was lean and powerful both.
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