“What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. Wood. By instinct. “Ye Gods!” she said at last. It tore her apart.
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