She felt her own body stir, ready for more. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. There's another lad at the gate waiting for him—the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewelcase for her ladyship. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season.
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