She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford. I'd go for it. Sometimes we had the Illustrated London News and Tit-Bits.
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