He propped himself up on one arm, kissing her passionately. She was gone. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. You intrigue me. . “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. They were delighted.
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