For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. "You've been quizzing my friend Kent, I perceive, in your Burlington Gate. And the jailers also retired. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen.
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