His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. Sheppard staggered forward. “Come on in, Michelle. It feels like it. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. Michelle looked at her pathetically. It is a very small affair, after all, and you can pay me back if you will. You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons.
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