When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. ’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. ‘Talk to me another time.
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