He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. She smiled. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. A dog appeared unexpectedly upon the threshold. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers.
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