And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. I loved her and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the same way. It was too good to be true. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House.
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