She must speak to Jack. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. . With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. “These are her rooms,” she said. Surely it was a dream. ‘So it was. Guns were impossible. A familiar figure was making his way towards them.
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