I thought that he was dead. “Bother it all!” she swore. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. Things that you and the nuns would not think about for—’ She stopped, biting back the words “for a young girl”. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out.
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