His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. I would that you were my own. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. ” “Hampstead didn’t suit Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison remarked. " "Wonderful! It's an infernal shame.
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