She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. “Because I hate you!” She spat. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times.
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