‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. “Just leave them with me for now, Clotilde. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. I don't threaten idly, as you know. "Dying, Sir Rowland.
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