With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. She finished the olive and looked up. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. ‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. ’ ‘Gad, but she’s a beauty,’ gasped Hilary, and slammed his sword back in its scabbard.
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