He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. “When you married me——” Her little hand flashed out across the table. She felt that she was not alone. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion.
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