It had been her father’s surname, and it had sounded far more innocuous and American than Iovelli. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. ” She laughed gaily—and she had a way when she laughed of throwing back her head and showing her beautiful white teeth, so that mirth from her was a thing very much to be desired. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. The man’s passion was infectious.
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