She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. They were silent for a time. ‘How could you possibly know it?’ ‘I know it,’ Lucilla told him frostily, ‘because Dorothée told me that Madame Valade went off with Gerald positively purring in her ear—which is a thing he never does—and came back with him looking like the cat after cream. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. “Four,” Anna decided firmly.
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