For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative
Among the Constant Encounters
Waiting alone in the great, oak-panelled library, with the antediluvian smell of new-cut grass wafting in from outside, the softly-sobbing Abraham thought once more of Baron Gordon, the one person left who could help her. He was now, according to persistent rumours, in the clutches of Constance Lincoln and his gang of cutthroats.
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