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‘Where was I? Oh yes. He's the only native I trust in these parts. ’ Mademoiselle, who had been nodding in agreement at Roding during the first part of this speech, abruptly turned to face Gerald again. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances.
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