She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. “She finds lying up so much very irksome. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. "I should never have been what I am, but for you.
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