As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. Sheppard, with startling eagerness. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. For whom had its sharp point been intended? Valade? Or perhaps his wife now that the girl had word of their marriage. ” She kissed him passionately, and ran lightly upstairs. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter.
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