It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. “Fuck you, Julian Rimbauer. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. His eyes were bright with the hunt. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. At least, he would always be able to take care of Ruth.
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