"Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. ’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Gerald said calmly, sipping at his burgundy. ’ His brows rose. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending.
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