“My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house. “You shall,” she said. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. Tears sprang to her eyes.
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