” She was in the bedroom by eleven. When he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. His voice now had lost its ironies. An iron fillet secured the socket of the bolt and the box of the lock to the main post of the doorway.
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