For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. ‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones.
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