It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing. The Widow and her Child. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. If we do not begin—” She had come to a resolution. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. If you had lived twenty years ago you would have been called a Young Person, and it would have been your chief duty in life not to know, never to have heard of, and never to understand. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. That’s probably true. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn.
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