She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. "No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. I got to have you under guard in the gatehouse, I can see that. I was pretty strong for a four-year old! She was so mad that she spanked me with a belt until my butt was raw and bleeding.
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