She is no longer mine; she is yours. “Take off your tunic. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves.
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