" He rose for fear she might touch him again. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. \" She sat down on a nearby bench. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. You have been her guardian angel. ‘But for my dowry, what else? One cannot expect that an Englishman will marry any jeune demoiselle without a dowry.
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