As for loving you, I do. He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. I will not trust you. Jackson. Sheppard. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun.
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