Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. ‘There is no question of a dispute. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. “Upon my word,” he exclaimed, “this is most extraordinary. It interwove with her biological work.
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