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Alinor managed to retain her maidenhead, but more by virtue of Simon's armor than by either her or Simon's virtue. There was no way to unarm without ceasing to caress, and when Simon stopped kissing her Alinor regained a modicum of common sense. Fortunately it was in one of her rational intervals that footfalls and voices echoed around the Cloister. Even then it was necessary to slap Simon's face to make him release her. Alinor stroked the cheek she had abused in mute apology. Simon stared at her, drawing deep, shaken breaths. |
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"I am not a tame cat," he muttered. "Stay away from me. I am half mad and not to be trusted." |
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Without another word he turned away and went in through the nearest door, weaving in his gait like a man overfull of wine. Alinor hastily rearranged her wimple and headdress and fled away from the advancing footsteps. She gained the safety of her chamber where she pressed her burning face against the cool stone walls. This was not like Simon. What was wrong with him? Half mad? Yes, but why? Jealousy writhed in her again. Has he never really desired me, Alinor wondered? Has some other woman aroused him and left him to work out his passion on me? |
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If that was true, the woman certainly was not in their party. Over the next three days, Alinor took Simon's advice and avoided him. Had she hoped to avoid exposure of Simon's feeling by that expedient, she would have hoped in vain. Whenever they were in the same place, his eyes followed her, glittering with |
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