" Lady Trafford sighed deeply. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. Would Gerald wish his friend to follow the man? He had hardly registered the decision that he had best do so, albeit with some reluctance, when his trained senses alerted him to an extraordinary circumstance. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. " The tone was neutral. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. ‘Grace à dieu, he breathes still. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best.
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