She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. “You shall go,” he declared. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn. And that would spoil it. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone.
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