Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. ‘But the major—’ ‘The major can say nothing at all. ’ A little sigh escaped her. “Act three. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect. She turned with an effort. “Please forgive me coming up, Miss Pellissier, but you have not been down to dinner for three nights, and—Brendon and I—we were afraid that you might be unwell. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing.
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