’ ‘For God’s sake, don’t accuse her of murder,’ begged Gerald, retrieving the lady’s hat and handing it to her, ‘or she’ll be challenging me to a duel again. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. Sir John waved her back. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow.
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