In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. It wasn’t pretty. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world.
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