Wood. ” She replied. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. “When are you going away?” He asked. But we waste time. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. There is worse to come. Only she is not Madame Valade at all.
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