She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. "Something's wrong. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. ’ ‘Married?’ ‘I did mention Madame Valade, did I not?’ At that, a growl of startling ferocity escaped her lips.
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