His name is John. I know something about men. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. She had warned him. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland. But her request was unheeded. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate.
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