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There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. She was the High Priestess. And the less “anything” happened the better. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. It’s no good hiding it any more. ’ ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I think as how you ought to go back to London,’ Jack ventured. ‘I try to be. His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. "You want me, then?" she said. ’ Then all at once remembrance made her smile.
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