At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear.
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