She was no longer there. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. She uncrossed her legs and lowered herself, carefully and slowly, until she lay supine. ‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day.
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