She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. Ramage.
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