“Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. ‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. Let me only wear your livery.
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