. ’ ‘Because I was a servant in the vicomte’s house? Things have changed. I was always told my mother died the day I was born. The room behind was another small antechamber, presumably linking the back rooms. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. ’ Gerald grinned.
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