‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. ‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an Englishman. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. “Come sit with me, beautiful. How much Mary knew is a mystery.
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