She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. She fell into another depression, refusing to touch Sebastian or call him husband when he demanded it. Brendon. The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad. A small voice greeted her, hissing.
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