He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. " Lady Trafford sighed deeply. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. “Do come and cheer me up.
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