Losing his presence of mind, Jack quitted his hold, and dropped upon the frame. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day.
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