She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald grinned. “You’re. Three cars were lined up in the driveway. ” “That sounds more promising,” Lady Lescelles declared. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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