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Unformatted text preview: here herself if she had managed to kill him? Perhaps not. "What did you expect me to do?" he asked. He leant down and kissed her again. She turned away. Her hair was wet now. She wanted to slide down into the water, but she feared she might not be able to bring herself back up. He crushed the rag in his hands, and began again to bathe her. He bathed her all over. He squeezed the water into her hair, washing it back from her forehead. She was so used to his scent that now she didn't really smell it; she felt only a warm sense of his nearness and a deep enervating desire for him. Of course, desire for him. "Let me trust you again, tell me you love me again," he implored, "and I'm your slave, not your captor. I swear it, my love, my brilliant one, my Rowan. Mother of us all." No answer came from her. He'd risen to his feet. "I'm going to clean everything for you," he said proudly like a child. "I'm going to clean it all and make it fresh and beautiful. I've...
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- Spring '10