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The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. ’ Gerald shrugged. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. Plus he’s a genius. ‘What we have to find out is whether or not the wretched female is in fact Lord Charvill’s granddaughter.
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