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| colorful ribbons with his eyes. His gaze settled on a scarlet ribbon. He smiled and picked it up. "Perfect," he pronounced, fishing in his breeches pocket for several coins. |

| The hawker mentally counted the coins as Stanford placed them in the palm of his hand. He paled, for this man had paid him twice what the items were worth. |

| "Now, fellow, be on your way," Stanford said, taking the hawker by an elbow and leading him back to his wagon. |

| The hawker climbed aboard, tipped his hat, and rode away, singing into the wind. |

| Sasha stood square-shouldered and tight-jawed as Stanford smiled down at her. "Sasha, I hope to make a peace offering with these gifts," he said, holding them out toward her. "It seems we got off on the wrong footing yesterday. I have come to apologize. Will you accept the apology?" |

| "I do not wish any gifts from you, nor apologies," Sasha said icily, her hand tightening on the rifle. "Please leave." She looked more closely at him, seeing a strange sort of tiredness in his eyes and in the way his jowls sagged. Had he gotten drunk the previous evening because of her? He most certainly looked as if he had had a hard night! |

| A quick anger flared within Stanford. "I am trying to be nice to you," he said, his teeth clenched. "Or is that the wrong approach?" He thrust the handkerchief and ribbon into his waistcoat pocket. "Do you like a man to be rough? If so, I'm just the man you're lookin' for. I'd be happy to do you the honor." |

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