" Trenchard took up a pen. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. Stonily he had disengaged himself. " The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. She positioned it over her arm, placing the firing end in Rhea’s mouth. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. . .
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