He drove to his apartment, a second floor studio he 120 was renting above a bakery. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. The doctor said you wrote. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him.
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