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She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. Like a petulant child he snapped. "I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord untasted. They were terrible, horrible people. “And if she can’t have the right one? “We’ve developed such a quality of preference!” She rubbed her knuckles into her forehead. There was nothing to be learned from her face.
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