‘There is Bernadette, Marie-Thérèse, Marie-Joséphine, Marie-Claire, Henriette—’ Exasperated, Gerald seized her by the shoulders. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. "No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her.
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