“If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. The day was warm even under an overcast sky and Hilary, uncomfortable, shifted his weight. Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. Enter the house with your men. .
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