She crushed the letter in her hand. Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. ‘I have only borrowed it. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. ‘It’s a pretty name. The woman I wanted was another man's wife. I miss her a lot.
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