“Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. Jonathan stepped behind a curtain. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word. This was in Tennessee.
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