Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. You can’t go. Later, when they returned home, she would serve as the topic of many conversations. I wonder——” He turned slowly round. ” “I’m sorry.
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