She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. Go, and let him in. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. . Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. I would that you were my own. ‘Never would he have gone to England.
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