To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. Gerald lifted an eyebrow. Now, he had achieved them, and felt assured of success. First-off, he had decided not to tell her what he had found at the bottom of that manila envelope. What he wanted desperately was to be alone.
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