’ A laugh escaped her. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. She forced herself not to think of John. Perhaps she was. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount. ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes.
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