Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. And now, Sir Rowland," he continued, turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. She held out her hand for it, but Gerald smiled. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked.
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