Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me. ” His shoulders relaxed. Please yourself. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember.
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