Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. He drew an awed breath. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. It was horrible, but she must do it. Lost from all protection, all her family dead—as are mine.
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