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walked off. He paused outside the stone house to look back at her. |
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She refused to give him the satisfaction of acting as miserable as she felt. Instead, she saluted jauntily. |
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His scowl seemed angry. No, furious. Despite the distance now between them, she felt like flinching, but she didn't. She hadn't intended to provoke him but had succeeded all the same. |
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She recalled, belatedly, the story of the screenplay Thorn and his unfortunate experience at Fort Pitt. If this Thorn's background was similar, the emotional wounds of his military history were still too raw to be trifled with. He would hardly welcome a satiric salute. Her lack of tact, though this time unintentional, had shone through. |
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He entered the stone house, slamming the door behind him. |
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With a devastated sigh, Mariah looked around. How was she to survive this? She couldn't quite believe it, yet she seemed to be caught in what appeared to be a primitive past. Her sole company was this ill-tempered man whose only resemblance to the troubled but heroic Thorn she'd admired from the screenplay was his gorgeous appearance. |
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There had been times in her childhood when she'd lived in virtual hovels, but at least they'd been modern hovels, with electricity and running water, which she apparently wouldn't find here. And she'd made sure every place she lived was spotlessly clean, despite . . . |
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No, she'd put all that behind her long ago, had built a wonderful life for herself. |
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Now, she had nowhere to goexcept the quarters Thorn had designated. With slow, weary steps, she trudged toward the stables. Her head still ached, and the adrenaline she'd felt since her adventure had begun seemed to drain out of her all at once, leaving her limp and exhausted. |
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As she expected, the inside of the stable was dark and gloomy. The few windows had no glass but, instead, some kind of paper plastered over them, letting in scant light. There were stalls on both sides, with hay strewn on the |
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