175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. ’ ‘But he’s a major of militia, miss. "Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself.
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