Gerald hoped he had covered all options and had resisted the temptation to pay mademoiselle a visit. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. He held her eyes. Taking the wind was her business in life. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. "You," answered Jack, abruptly.
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