Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. He knew me, Nigel. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. ’ ‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’ ‘None of that. .
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