She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. ‘But for my dowry, what else? One cannot expect that an Englishman will marry any jeune demoiselle without a dowry. Then Ramage appeared with effusion, and ushered her into his inner apartment. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. “Oh good. The game lasted until 7:13. The stipendiary would have done it all very differently. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Everything was going to hell. He had always warned her explicitly about turning others into vampires. . ’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ Gerald uttered in a rueful tone.
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