It was a clear, lovely, October morning. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. ‘Why did you kiss me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Gerald admitted. Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical.
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