She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. Never mind. She answered him with another kiss, long and deep. "Get ready your heaviest irons, Austin. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her.
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