‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. . You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons. Her thought spoke aloud. Besides—there is Sir John. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments.
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