The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. “A little nervous. Mistresses neither deserve consideration nor commiseration. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. .
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