The latter began to heave himself up from the sand. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. No, this was imbecile. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still.
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