“You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. ” Brendon leaned over confidentially. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. modern. "Love me, love my dog! Because I've scolded him and told him a few truths, you are ice to me. Burn your palette and your easel. ” She changed the subject abruptly. He had reacted by pushing her away, disgust and frustration on his face. He no longer made love to her, as there was no point.
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