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. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. It brought no coconut. "Swear that you will do this," she cried.
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