She could not bear the shame of it. He turned his back on that temptation. You’re dealing with me now, not Gerald. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. Stanley. Footman or some such. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. You can tell me the rest another time. That’s my advice.
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