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But Gerald kept to a casual note. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. You will do as I say, or—’ ‘Hoy!’ called Trodger from down the hall. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face.
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