He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. He would have to go on; he would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon himself. Come along with us in the morning. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. It was an easy one to smell early on, Sebastian had taught her: anything reproductive.
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