He was snoring stupidly. ‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. For a moment none of them stirred; then slowly Enschede turned away. Sheppard. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare.
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