There's the paragraph. Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. "Get up, then," said Jack, freeing his foot from the stirrup. . She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. It was a “territory” back then, and many a Frenchman and a Redskin both had been devoured in those caves. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. .
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