‘Oh, peste. The nurse sent for him as soon as she saw that you were conscious. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. I don’t suggest any philanthropy. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. Men do not understand constancy as women do.
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