She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. The man was thick set, with a bright roving eye. " And, with this, he coolly re-adjusted his peruke. “Oh, that. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. The looming face was 71 over her own once again, and arms as strong as iron bars held her down.
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