Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. “Delicious!” she murmured. Had she expected to wed Valade herself? Had the fellow broken a vow of betrothal, or abandoned her? He must find out more. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered.
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