They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. Footman or some such. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. “You’re an idiot and your attitude is repugnant. “Julian, I don’t know how to put this. ‘Not kill me, I mean. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless.
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