Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. He waved a cordial goodbye. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. Sepulchre's. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket.
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