She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. It was if the world had blinked out for a moment. She was fine and tender. " "You read those yarns?" Spurlock's head came about, and there was eagerness in his eyes. Hope you ate light before you got here. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone.
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