“That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. You are infatuated. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket. “Very good,” he said. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be just as hardheaded. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks.
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