The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so.
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