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“Let us go to that little place at the back of the Palace. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. Please to let me go there. ’ Speeding down the two flights of stairs, Gerald mentally thanked God that it was the practice of himself and Roding—in case of emergency, of which this was a prime example—to stable their horses at the posting inns all the way to London. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation web page at http://www. She waited for him to leave the room, and turned back to Gerald.
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