CHAPTER VIII. What are you after?’ ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back. Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day.
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