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Today's passage comes from "One with the Night," a romance novel by Susan Squires. It's set in 1822 London.

He threw himself to his knees beside her and grasped her upper arms.

"Are ye well, lass?"

"That...hurt."

Guilt washed across his face. "Breathe now. There's always a cost."

"You might have told me." She blinked.

"Ye might not ha' gone through with it," he said ruefully.

Sigh. Isn't that always the case.