The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. “If they matter to you, they matter. ” “Can’t we arrange something? Can’t we make a sort of treaty?” “He wouldn’t keep it. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. He chuckled.
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