“And this is Mr. . ’ ‘Leonardo again,’ Gerald muttered and, to her disappointment, dropped her hand. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back.
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