He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. What has she to with Constance Trenchard?" "Mrs. mm. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others.
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