Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. ’ ‘Oh, that,’ Gerald said cautiously. Set on unravelling her secrets, Gerald pursues every possible clue—much to the indignation of Mademoiselle.
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