They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. You called yourself a murderess. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. He hesitated. He did not think of her as a killer, he could barely conceive it. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. Sheppard, faintly.
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