She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. Light flooded the place. But his grief was of short duration.
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