Mrs Sindlesham’s wrinkled cheek had paled, and her eyes were fixed upon Gerald in a look that wrung his heart. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint. ‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron. Anna felt that her words had become charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any which she had intended to impart.
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