The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. "The Dutchman was right, after all. You came out like an ant for your nuptial flight. " "You are heiress to the Trenchard property," rejoined Jonathan, "one of the largest estates in Lancashire. “That sounds interesting. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. William Kneebone, Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone.
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