CHAPTER XVI. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. His face fell. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. ’ ‘What husband?’ ‘Precisely.
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