She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. Ask your own conscience. “Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. But he had been forewarned by his great-nephew. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Meanwhile, she doesn’t realize she’s pregnant and he’s still after her, day after day. .
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