Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. "Yes … but dreadfully tired. She turned there and beckoned. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. Set on unravelling her secrets, Gerald pursues every possible clue—much to the indignation of Mademoiselle. Mr. Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well.
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