She winked at him as he shut the door. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. Sheppard now directed her steps. In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared. "She is my lawful wife. " He shifted the pages together, rolled and thrust them under her arm.
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